Death of Today
by Epic Solemnity
Summary: COMPLETE LV/HP: Raised in a Muggle orphanage, Harry arrives at Hogwarts a bitter boy. Unusually intelligent, he's recruited by the Unspeakables and the Death Eaters at a young age. As he grows older, he constantly has to struggle to keep his footing around a manipulative and bored Dark Lord, who fancies mind games and intellectual entertainment. (Currently being re-edited.)
1. Part I Chapter 1

**Note**: There is a "Lord Voldemort" in this story, but he's not very active right now. There _is_ a Tom Marvolo Riddle. He's a very high-end politician in this world. _(This story is currently being re-edited. It will be a slow process, but I hope to get to all the chapters)_

**Warnings**: SLASH LV/HP (much later on). Dark/bitter/cunning/OOC/_smart_ Harry.

**Summary**: Raised hating Muggles, Harry arrives at Hogwarts a bitter boy. Unusually intelligent, he's recruited by both the Unspeakables and the Death Eaters. His loyalty is not to the Ministry _or _the Death Eaters, but to himself. Not only does he struggle to balance Unspeakable work, Hogwarts, and Death Eaters, but he also finds himself woven into the mystery of his parentage.

Edited: 3.2.2013

_**Prologue**_

The redheaded woman held the newborn tightly against her bosom, waiting breathlessly for the orphanage door to open. Logically, she should have left the baby on the doorstep before fleeing. But something made her legs heavy and her heart even heavier. She found herself frozen in place, unable to react even when the door opened.

This wasn't like her. Usually, she was sharp-witted and quick.

"Can I help you?"

The voice was warm enough, Lily noted instinctively with a hint of gratefulness. She clutched at the baby, clearing her throat when her voice was caught. Opening her mouth, she faltered once again as her emerald eyes took in the woman before her. The elderly female had brown hair tied to the nape of her neck with graying temples. Smile lines creased around her mouth and eyes. Outwardly, she _appeared _kind enough, gentle enough, to raise her son.

Lily bowed her head, a deep hood covering her features from the Muggle woman. She took in the small baby that slept peacefully in her arms, unable to sate her marvel at the purity, the beauty. The baby, no more than a few weeks old, was a precious and painful sight. She couldn't keep him, not… no. It was too dangerous for both the child and herself.

Her arms extended stiffly. They felt like weights as she handed over the baby to the Muggle woman. If Lily was aware of how much she trembled, the woman had to be just as well. "H-here," she whispered hoarsely. "Please, please take him. Take my baby."

The Muggle's eyes widened. Quickly, she took the newborn child from her arms when she observed how much Lily was trembling. With skilled hands, the elderly woman nurtured the child's neck and cradled the silent bundle closer. "Are you alright, dear?"

Lily remained silent, staring at the small newborn now in the Muggle's care. She knew this was for the best, yet it was painful to see _her _child in a stranger's arms. Her son was so small, so angelic. How could she have committed this act?

"Dear?"

"Izar…" Lily struggled in a hoarse whisper. "His name… Harrison…" Her lips quivered from beneath her hood and she felt a small part of her die as the Muggle cradled the black-haired little baby. This pain, she wanted to feel it. For what she had done, she deserved every bit of emotional cruelty thrown at her.

"Izar?" The woman questioned, a frown creasing her lips at the foreign name. "His name is Izar Harrison? Is that it?"

No. Harrison was the middle name and Izar the first. However, Lily only nodded erratically, backing away with small, jerky steps. "Take good care of my baby," she whispered in despair before turning and running. Tears burned her eyes, blinding her path.

"_Wait_!" The Muggle called after her.

Lily knew she wouldn't follow, not with a small child in her arms: A child that she bore and gave birth to, but that was no longer hers.

It was for the best.

Chapter One

"_Freak."_ Lips parted and spit flew.

Izar flinched away from the droplets of saliva, trying not to let the larger boy bother him. His shoulders were drawn up defensively and his eyes were directed toward the swings and away from the bully. A soft growl escaped his lips and his fingers curled inward into fists.

"You're a freak, a freak!" The boy laughed, shoving Izar nearly hard enough to snap his neck.

The dark-haired boy stumbled, trying to gather his footing. The toe of his boot hit the rocks and he went down hard, scarping his knees and palms. As the children laughed, Izar laid there motionless, staring blankly at the blood on his skin. His pale charcoal and green eyes watched the crimson trail of blood as it dripped down and around his wrist. No tears fell when the larger boy kicked him hard in the ribs before turning to leave.

Tears had stopped long ago.

Instead, the pale eyes turned from the blood to the boy's back. His lips thinned and fury burned inside his chest. Izar's breathing wheezed as he struggled to sit up. Around him, the world spun and he was more than aware of the other children watching him from afar. No one ever approached him. They were either too afraid of him or they were afraid of being targeted by Louis, the orphanage bully.

Still, Izar despised those other children. They were weak. They were too afraid, too stupid.

He glowered, holding his bruised stomach as he stood up and escaped the courtyard. It was _his_ fault anyway. He knew better than to go to the courtyard at this time.

He stalked through the orphanage, his home for over eleven years. Nothing changed; it never improved and only worsened. It was old and worn down, not dirty, per say, but there was updating to be done. Potential parents who visited the orphanage either felt pity for the children's current living conditions, or they felt uncomfortable enough that they left without visiting in length with the children.

"Are you alright, Izar?" one of the caretakers murmured, her expression carefully expressing her lack of concern.

Good, he didn't need their pity. The caretakers learned not to comfort and coddle him, especially when he had furiously pushed them away so many times before. He hated them. Even if they knew the situation, they _never_ helped matters. A few slaps on Louis' wrists were hardly ever enough to discouraging him from continuing his assaults. Izar was better than they were. There was no need to be so worked up.

Izar passed her without a word, hurrying up to his room that he shared with a younger boy.

Nursing his scraped palms, Izar entered his room and collapsed on the bed. The thin mattress groaned as it collided with the rusty springs. Paying no heed to the blood on his hands, Izar picked up the side of the mattress and took out the bit of parchment he had hidden there.

Staring at the letter, he allowed a small smile to cross his lips. _Hogwarts_.

Cradling the letter to his chest, Izar closed his eyes, imagining a world of witchcraft and wizardry. Blood stained the parchment, but he didn't notice nor care. He was imagining a world where he was like all the others, a world where children wouldn't tease him because he was different. And most importantly, he was starved for all the knowledge he could attain in this new world. Even at his young age, Izar knew the importance of intelligence, of knowing things the other children couldn't possibly retain in their simple minds.

Most of all, Izar was aroused at the chance to prove himself. He wanted to make a name for himself in the Wizarding world. He didn't want to be just an orphan, or the small boy everyone could pick on, no, he wanted to use his special powers to his own advantage.

Ever since Izar was young, he noticed he wasn't like the other children here. He could manipulate things to his own liking. There were times when he concentrated really, _really _hard, he could move toys or other mundane objects across the room. There were also other times where accidents happened, accidents that Izar always found fascinating even if they were morbid.

One time, when Izar had been especially angry with Louis, the boy had suddenly fallen to his knees, unable to breath. The bully's breath had come out in short, raspy gasps. Just thinking about it made Izar's fingers tremble with excitement.

"Izar?"

Izar flinched, stuffing the parchment under his pillow and turning toward the door. Another caretaker he was familiar with, Andrea, stood near another woman, an older woman who was unfamiliar to Izar.

"A Professor McGonagall is here to see you."

Izar straightened up from his lounged position, curiosity sparking. With sharp and observant eyes, he watched as McGonagall nodded stridently to Andrea before entering the room uninvited. Izar examined the way the older woman, McGonagall, walked. She had an uptight stance, clearly suggesting a stern and professional demeanor.

"Mr. Harrison, it's a pleasure to meet you. I assume you got your Hogwarts letter?" McGonagall questioned once Andrea had retreated from the room.

Izar stared calmly at the woman, his eyes surveying her closely. She didn't look anything special. He couldn't sense anything… abnormal about her like he could with himself. She appeared the same as any normal human being, the same as all the others in the orphanage. Disappointment licked at Izar. He had thought that wizards and witches would carry themselves a bit differently from everyday men and women.

"Yes Professor," he whispered respectfully as he continued studying her with rapture.

The professor seemed to stiffen and her eyes narrowed as she took him in. She was observing him just as carefully as he was observing her. Izar didn't mind the scrutiny. He remained expressionless, allowing the woman her time to assess him.

Suddenly, something in her posture shifted. Charcoal and green eyes zeroed on her stiffening spine and her disturbed expression. The unsettlement crossed her features just briefly before she masked it expertly. Izar raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. She was uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

"I am here to assist you with your shopping, Mr. Harrison," she continued, her voice hard and stern, yet her eyes tried to take on a gentler gleam.

"Shopping?" Izar asked naively. He assumed she meant shopping for school supplies, for _wizard _supplies. His pulse jumped at the prospect of that, but he sobered quickly. "But I don't have any money, Professor."

"There is a fund Hogwarts takes out for orphaned students, Mr. Harrison." She offered him a smile he didn't return. She wouldn't realize Izar hated being reminded he was an orphan, abandoned as a mere baby. Her smile wavered into that of a stern line. "Would you like to accompany me today?"

"I would enjoy that very much, Professor."

For the first time, in a long time, he offered another human a smile. From the look of McGonagall's expression, Izar assumed he needed more work.

**Death of Today**

Izar pulled at his robes, straightening out the small, nonexistent wrinkles. He walked the length of the platform, still in silent shock at everything around him. Outwardly, he appeared disinterested and collected. Inside though, he was having trouble keeping everything he learned in memory. There was so _much _of it. He hated not being caught up with the rest of the children. From what he learned from McGonagall, most of these children were raised in this magical world.

They knew more than he did, he was already so many years behind. Nonetheless, Izar would try to remedy that as soon as possible.

After getting over the initial shock of Diagon Alley, Izar had followed obediently behind McGonagall as they navigated through the village. Together, they purchased the required objects on the list and _only _the required objects on the list. There were more books Izar would have liked to purchase and a few more Wizarding robes. Reluctantly, Izar realized he was on a budget, especially being an orphan who needed to borrow like some _beggar_.

Clearing his throat, Izar aimlessly wandered toward the train. There were students and parents everywhere, seeing their children off to another year at Hogwarts. He eyed the parents, watching as mothers kissed their children's reddened cheeks and fathers proudly clasp their son or daughter's shoulders. Izar liked to pride himself on being independent, but he was only eleven, and watching the loving exchanges gave him a brief sting of bitter discontent.

Unexpectedly, one handsome couple caught Izar's interest. A father and son, by the looks of their similar blond hair and pointed features, were saying farewell in their own particular way. They stood stiffly, separated a good distance away. They almost appeared formal in their departure, neither of them showing any signs of being affected by the upcoming absence. Their attire appeared spun in the finest silk and material. Even the buttons and stitching looked luxurious.

Izar's feet subconsciously brought him closer to the two family members. The entrance to the train was just near the two, so it wouldn't appear too odd for Izar to be walking closer.

The father, his majestic form standing apart from the crowd, glanced at Izar dismissingly before turning away. It wasn't until the man gave a double take when Izar became rigid. He found himself under the inspection of frozen grey eyes. For the first time in ages, Izar found himself feeling vulnerable to another.

Neither McGonagall nor any of the other adult witches and wizards in Diagon Alley had made him feel defenseless. Izar's expression fell for just a moment before he quickly constructed his mask back in place. The longer he found himself under the stare of the older wizard, the stronger he felt himself become. This unconventional situation would be good practice for other wizards that may take Izar off guard.

This… _this _blond man possessed a bit of power and allure that Izar had hoped every wizard had. When he had met McGonagall, he was disappointed by how much she resembled every other non-magical man and woman. He had thought that every wizard and witch would be the same. Nonetheless, Izar noticed this man was different from them all. He wasn't ordinary. He was _powerful_.

"A First Year?" The blond boy whispered to his father after noticing his guardian's averted attention.

Izar approached the two quicker, eager to get on the train and away from the older man's stare. He passed them, keeping his eyes on the man's grey ones. Once he passed completely, he heard the man's voice, a deep, silky baritone.

"He will no doubt be a Slytherin, Draco. Stick close to him and help guide him through his first year at Hogwarts."

Izar's shoulders sagged as soon as he locked himself inside an empty compartment. Slamming the back of his neck against the glass compartment door, he gave a shaky breath. His hands were trembling and his pulse was beating at its highest.

He didn't understand why he was reacting in such a way. Yes, he felt defenseless and vulnerable around the blond man, but there was more to it. Izar had almost _felt _the static around the older man. It was similar to both electricity and heavy air. It was almost as if Izar had sensed the man's magic. But that should be impossible, shouldn't it? Even for wizards that wasn't normal. Was it?

Still, he couldn't help but allow a smile to stretch his lips. _Finally_, he had seen a real wizard, a _real _magical figure that stuck out from non-magical folk. Izar only hoped he was like that blond man. He hoped he wasn't like McGonagall or the other adults and children here. He didn't want to be like non-magical people, like those at the orphanage. Just thinking about being normal like them made Izar's pulse race quicker. He did not want to be _ordinary, _but _extraordinary_.

The train lurched to a start and Izar clutched the door for balance. He breathed against the glass, trying to calm himself. He was off to a new life, a new world, leaving behind his horrible orphanage until the summer holidays.

A sharp rap at the door had Izar straightening up quickly, neutralizing his expression when he saw the blond boy standing on the other side, accompanied by a few other children. Before Izar opened the door, he pondered on this predicament called 'friends.'

He had never had a friend at the orphanage. He had gone through five solid years before he realized he didn't need anyone that close to him. He had seen the workings of the orphanage, observed the other children and _their _friendships. Never once had he seen friends who stuck to the definition of loyalty. There was always a situation in which a friend stabbed the other in the back to climb up in the rankings of popularity or in hopes to gain something from the betrayal.

It was human nature to think and act for yourself and only yourself. There was no such thing as friendship to Izar.

However, he had to make a decision with this blond boy. Perhaps he could use the blond boy as an ally, not a friend. He would need to keep the boy at arm's length, only relying on the blond for information and the likes. Judging from the other boy's face through the compartment, Izar knew that the boy was thinking the same.

Reluctantly, Izar opened the compartment, allowing the small group of four to enter.

"Do you mind if we sit here? Everywhere else is full," the boy drawled, sitting down without invitation. The girl sat down next to him, leaving the two larger boys to squeeze together on Izar's side.

Izar eyed the other boy, remembering how his father called him Draco. It was an unusual name, though Izar shouldn't pass judgment. He certainly knew his name wasn't traditional or conventional.

"Your lenses, where did you get them?" the girl breathed with reverence. "They're breathtaking."

Izar frowned at the dark-haired girl as she leaned forward and eyed him with an uncomfortable amount of interest. "My lenses?" He didn't wear glasses or contacts.

"Yes, your eyes are the most unique color, they must be lenses. Drake, do you see them? They are dark silver with flecks of green near the pupils. Slytherin colors. They're brilliant, where did you get them?" She repeated as if he were thick.

"They're my real eyes, but thank you for the compliment," he murmured darkly, irritated at her overwhelming presence. He turned away from her and onto Draco. The blonde-haired boy was clearly amused at Izar's irritation. "I take it you're looking to be Sorted in Slytherin?" Izar questioned lightly, proud that he remembered that fact.

He had read _Hogwarts: A History_ after the trip to Diagon Alley. He knew of the four Houses and their qualities. Izar secretly wished he'd be Sorted into Slytherin. Everything sounded spectacular at the castle and his excitement had only grown after reading about it. Now, on the train to Hogwarts, he could barely contain his relief at being away from the orphanage and with his own 'kind.'

Draco smirked, his eyes becoming hooded. "I'm already _in _Slytherin. This is my second year at the school. Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle are both second years as well. All of our families have been sorted into Slytherin many generations back. How about your family?" Before Izar could clearly understand the boy's question, Draco continued. "Oh, I apologize. I haven't properly introduced myself yet. I'm Draco Malfoy."

A pale hand held itself out toward Izar. He looked at it just briefly before reaching out his own hand.

"Izar Harrison," he greeted back.

Before he could touch Draco's hand, the blond dropped his offered appendage quickly. Izar blinked, confusion breaking through his sturdy mask. What had he done wrong? Had he forgotten a Wizarding custom? Why was Draco's face slowly turning into a sour expression? He'd only been in this world for a few minutes and he'd already made a mistake.

"Harrison?" Draco repeated his last name, the scowl on his face turning into a disgusted grimace. "You are a Mudblood?"

"I'm unfamiliar with the term 'Mudblood,'" Izar repeated coldly, feeling his barriers rise at the dismayed glances he was receiving from the lot of Slytherins in the compartment.

"Of course you would be unfamiliar with it," Draco stressed, leaning back away from Izar. "Mudbloods, otherwise known as Muggle-borns, are raised in the Muggle world by Muggle parents." Seeing Izar's blank expression, Draco gave a tight laugh, his eyes taunting Izar's lack of knowledge.

Izar immediately felt belittled by this boy.

Draco deepened his tone into that of a superior drawl. "Muggles are non-magical people," he clarified slowly, taking special care to humiliate Izar's intelligence. "They are the pathetic lot of this world. I, a pure-blood wizard, am _superior _in the Wizarding world. We don't have a drop of Muggle blood in our family line. And _you,_a Mudblood, are the scum at the bottom of my feet."

Izar sat there numbly, unable to believe something like this could happen here in this world. He thought every wizard was the same…

"Crabbe, Goyle, show this _scum_ out of our compartment. I can't believe father was _wrong_ in his assumptions."

Before Izar could comprehend it, two hands grabbed his arms, hauling him up from his seat. Izar stiffened at the contact, his mind flashing back to the orphanage when the children bullied him. He shut himself down as the two boys pulled him out into the hallway and pushed him to the floor. Izar landed on his knees just as the compartment door slammed shut behind him. Turning to look over his shoulder, he caught sight of Draco's revolted face before the blinds were pulled shut.

Izar stayed on his hands and knees in the dark hallway. No students were mulling about at the moment. Instead, he could hear their cheery voices coming from the compartments. He bowed his head, staring blankly at the carpeted floor. He finally had a name for non-magical folk. Muggles. Those children in the orphanage were Muggles, the very same ones Izar hated. Muggles… he hated them all.

Yet, apparently, he was just like them according to Draco. Izar was a Muggle-born, a child born to non-magical parents. The very same _Muggle _parents who abandoned him at the _Muggle _hell.

Izar hissed between his clenched teeth as his fingers clawed into the carpet. His shoulders shook in suppressed rage and sadness. Draco may be 'purer' than Izar. And pure-bloods _may _be the superior race, but Izar knew one thing. He would be the best damn Mudblood the Wizarding world had ever seen. He would surpass everything Draco did and he would be more powerful than any pure-blood. Izar wouldn't allow himself to be compared to the filthy Muggles, simply because Izar knew he was better than those vile creatures, those _ordinary _creatures. He wouldn't be ordinary.

"Er… are you alright, mate? Need a hand there?" Another pale hand was thrust into Izar's face.

His shoulders trembled once more before his head slowly arched up to stare the redhead in the eye. It was a boy about his age, with freckles and second-hand robes. He appeared friendly enough, but Izar wasn't fooled. This may be a pure-blood as well.

The younger redhead backed away hesitantly, his hand falling uncertainly to his side.

"No," Izar whispered, baring his teeth in a soundless snarl. "I don't need _help_. Not from you; not from anyone." He stood up and brushed passed the stunned redhead.

On his path to prove himself, he wouldn't need _anyone. _No friends. No help.

**Death of Today**

Izar still felt a bit cold and shaken as he waited for the hat to finish its song. Despite being bitter and moody, he had taken notice of the beauty Hogwarts presented. It portrayed a warm glow to the students, yet the shadows were also alluring, welcoming an escape to Izar if he needed it. There were probably several places he could find in this castle to hide away from everyone's notice.

He couldn't wait to explore. He couldn't wait to learn and to advance himself ahead of the students in his class.

Knowledge was power. Was it not? As far as Izar knew, it was. The smarter someone was, the harder it was to take him or her down. Intelligent people were difficult to be controlled. Right now, Izar was clueless about the politics in this world, about the magic, the spells, and the people. He didn't know anything about Wizarding traditions or how to interact with his betters. He had a lot to learn in seven years.

His fists clenched as he waited for McGonagall to call his name. He was more than aware of the eyes on his back. He knew they belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy. However, Izar refused to let the blond-boy rile him up at school.

"Harrison, Izar," McGonagall spoke sharply, clearly.

Izar maneuvered his way past the unmovable forms of the other first years. He climbed up the wooden stairs and approached the tattered hat. Whatever would transpire here would alter his future. It would either change things for the better or for the worse. A House was a very important factor in the Hogwarts life. But the Sorting Hat was skilled in the art of minds and character. Only the Sorting Hat knew which House Izar would find a home.

Before he sat down on the stool, he met eyes with the Headmaster. It was the first time he had really looked at the Head Table. Izar paused in his advance, feeling the same sensation he had with Draco Malfoy's father, only this time, it was a great deal stronger. Izar swallowed at the sheer amount of static and hair-raising power surrounding the man. Those kind blue eyes twinkled back at Izar, making the man appear ignorant of his own power. The old man _was _pure power.

Izar continued forward after the Headmaster gave him a warm nod. He had to get a hold of himself. However, even his internal scolding didn't stop the way his body shook at the proximity of the old man.

Just as he sat, he caught a pair of black eyes looking back at him. Another professor, with alluring power similar to that of Draco Malfoy's father, was sitting near the end of the Head Table.

The hat covered his eyes a moment later.

"_Ravenclaw!"_


	2. Part I Chapter 2

Edited 3.2.2013

**Chapter Two**

Charcoal and green eyes surveyed the ball before him, feeling his disgust and boredom heightening with each passing second. How could people enjoy these types of things? It was all about status, about power, and flaunting richery and popularity.

Izar leaned against the wall near the refreshments, eyeing the dancing couples and the men and women speaking to one another to the side of the dance floor. It was a large, summer Ministry ball. The Ministry seemed to hold an extravagant ball a few times during the year, using the wizards' tax money as means to pay for the ridiculous, foreign dishes and the silks and ribbons scattered across the large room.

Izar didn't find it flattering in the least.

To preoccupy himself, Izar reminisced on the path he had taken to get to this point. It was strange how much he excelled the past four years in the Wizarding world. He would have to admit that he had done a splendid job, far better than he had ever hoped.

He had arrived at Hogwarts as a poor orphan boy with unsure expectations. Granted, he was _still_ poor and _still_ an orphan, but he had learned so much at his four years at Hogwarts that he didn't feel as lost and confused.

He was still bitter and cold and he didn't socialize with the students unless it was absolutely necessary. He formed no particular bonds to anyone at the school. The first two and a half years, Draco Malfoy had been a thorn at his side, muttering 'Mudblood' in the hallways or going through unnecessary lengths to ridicule him. Eventually, the thickheaded blond ceased his treatment when he realized Izar didn't rise to the bait.

Being a Mudblood didn't bother Izar. He wasn't necessarily proud of being closely related to the filthy Muggles, but he was the best-damned Mudblood in the Wizarding world, or, at least he _would_be the best. Even Izar wasn't arrogant enough to admit he didn't need to learn anymore.

Because he _did _need to learn more. There was never a shortage of knowledge, especially for him.

Last year, in his Fourth Year, he had taken the same O.W.L's the Fifth Years had taken. By request of Headmaster Dumbledore, Izar had taken the exams to prove he was ready to skip a grade. Skipping a year at Hogwarts had only happened once before. Surprisingly, it was done by a female Hufflepuff a few decades ago.

Not to Izar's surprise, he had passed with high scores. The only other people who knew that Izar was starting his Sixth Year were a select few at the Ministry, the Professors, and the Unspeakables.

_The Unspeakables…_

Izar exhaled, his eyes searching for a few Unspeakables scattered around the party. Not many people knew their identity, they only knew they worked somewhere in the Ministry. Izar had gotten to know most of them simply because he had been offered a position there at the end of his Fourth Year, after taking his O.W.L.s.

At first, Izar had been taken aback at their request to practice his magical aptitude in their labs, but he had quickly taken the position. After all, magic and magical theory had always intrigued Izar. Regrettably, because he was new to the Unspeakables, he needed to be under close supervision and perform mundane tasks. However, he got paid for it and he would eventually be able to expand his job duties.

The Headmaster had agreed to let Izar work with the Unspeakables, but only for the summer. His Fifth Year— or Sixth Year— started up in a few weeks. And his birthday was just two weeks before Hogwarts started up again. Izar was amused. A fourteen-year-old Unspeakable was unusual, but not that surprising. Apparently, they recruited young wizards and witches many times, though not as young as him.

"You look bored, Izar," a voice drawled seductively next to him.

Izar turned to look at the short female next to him, offering her a brief, small smile. "Daphne," he greeted coolly before turning back to the politics.

The blond Slytherin girl, who was in Draco's year, was one of three people he _tolerated _at times. The majority of the time, she just got on his nerves, only because she seemed to understand him the best and always seemed to try to pull him out of his shell. He wasn't interested in friendship, or being as lively as she wanted him to be.

"Daddy says you're skipping your Fifth Year and entering your Sixth. The same year you _should _have been at the start."

"Yes," Izar replied shortly, exasperated that it wasn't kept under closer wraps. He didn't want the news to spread that he had skipped a grade. Daphne's father, Mr. Greengrass, worked at the Ministry, and was a school Governor of Hogwarts with Lucius Malfoy.

Izar was sure Lucius had told already told Draco. The little urchin was probably stalking around the ball, looking to confront him about it and insult him. It wasn't that Izar was uncomfortable about the fact that he had skipped years. In actuality, it had been a relief, only because he had been bored with the lack of challenge. However, he found the drama of the other students _tiring_and a waste of time.

At least no one would know that he was an Unspeakable, save for Dumbledore and the Unspeakables themselves. Not even the Minister wanted to dabble with the Unspeakables, choosing to stay away at a great distance.

"Would you like to dance?" Daphne asked, leaning against the wall next to Izar. She already knew the answer to her question, which was why she wasn't insulted at his silence. "My father dragged me here tonight, how awful. I only wanted to catch up on my reading," she declared airily.

Izar turned to look at Daphne, his eyes hooded at the taunting smirk on her face. "Don't mock me," he murmured, pushing off the wall. "You don't fool me. You'd rather attend several of these _things _as opposed to reading a stimulating text."

She laughed lightly, her dark green eyes bright. "And I know you'd rather have that handsome face of yours buried in a dusty book. Only _you _would find reading _stimulating_."

She stood up, advancing closer to Izar. Her eyes were level with his own, proving how short Izar was. Daphne was the shortest witch in her year, yet she was attractive and her body didn't look awkward with being so small. "This brings me to my question as to why you, Izar, are here. At a Ministry ball, full of those pure-blooded people you hate so much?"

He didn't necessarily hate pure-bloods. He didn't care for their haughty attitude and their assumptions that they were superior. It was Muggles and Muggle-borns that he detested. He hated his _own _kind, yet he always tried to make the best of it and improve himself.

Izar took a step backward, flashing her a smirk. "I was invited to the Ministry ball because of my O.W.L results. That's all." She looked suspicious and he offered a light bow. "It's too bad your 'daddy' can't tell you everything, now isn't it, Greengrass?" With that parting remark, he turned his heel to escape her.

"You owe me a dance later," she warned after him.

Like hell. He couldn't dance and he wouldn't make a fool of himself by having a female lead. Because he just _knew _Daphne would be the one to lead.

**Death of Today**

Lucius listened to the chatter of those around him. It wasn't very surprising to note that most of the crowd had been drawn to none other than Tom Riddle. The majority of these Ministry workers weren't Death Eaters and they didn't know the very high-end politician was scheming against them. Even if they had suspicions, it was hopeless to try to avoid Tom Riddle. They were moths to his flame.

Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort to his followers, was the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. At times, he also filled in for the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when Amelia Bones had to take sick days for her terminal cancer.

Outwardly, Tom appeared around sixty years of age with black hair streaked with silver and a slow-aging face. His eyes were dark and piercing, but not nearly as piercing as his true eyes. Lucius had seen underneath the glamours. His true form wasn't a day over thirty. Thick, dark hair replaced the silver and his skin was flawless. One could say that the Dark Lord was attractive, but the Death Eaters were more attracted to the man's powers and ideals.

Usually, Tom Riddle was a skilled politician, able to keep the conversation flowing and never leave anyone out of the loop. He was engaged, charming, and had an unlimited supply of charisma. Yet, to a trained eye, Tom Riddle was distracted tonight and Lucius was the only one who noticed where Tom's attention truly laid.

The dark eyes were following the lithe form of Izar Harrison.

Lucius didn't blame the Dark Lord's fixation. Not only was Izar Harrison a very attractive, if not beautiful young man, but he carried himself in a way that no other had done so before. It was almost a self-loathing, yet confident swagger. It was two conflicting emotions. It was past Lucian's knowledge how someone could hate oneself, yet feel secure and confident.

Lucius hadn't seen Izar since the boy's first day on the platform, yet Draco has written him on more than one occasion about the younger boy.

Gone was the First Year trepidation. Intelligence and maturity took its place. The young man had grown up beautifully. He walked with a deadly grace, fitting for his lithe and petite body. His black hair was crimped in natural waves, a few unruly strands curling at the ends. The face was purely patrician, a trait many pure-bloods shared. The high cheekbones, the slightly hallowed cheeks, and the thin neck all pointed aristocratic. Yet, the boy claimed he was a Mudblood.

And those _eyes_…

Lucius was suspicious of the boy's parentage. He hadn't shared his opinion with his son, who had learned from the boy himself that he was a Muggle-raised child. Nonetheless, Lucius was pleased that his Lord was interested in the boy. It showed good taste. Izar Harrison was a young prodigy if his test scores had anything to go by.

"His name is Izar Harrison," Lucius whispered quietly in the Dark Lord's ear when the man looked back at the boy.

Tom's eyebrows heightened. "Is that so?"

The man tried to feign disinterest once he learned of the insignificant surname, but Lucius wouldn't stand by listlessly. He felt a strange insistence pulling himtoward the young man. The boy would be a good asset to their side. The Dark Lord wasn't foolish. He knew a potential follower just as much as Lucius.

Moreover, the way the Dark Lord had zeroed his attention on the boy as soon as he entered was saying something.

"Yes, he is a declared Mudblood," Lucius agreed softly, sympathetic to the Dark Lord's response. "But the boy has an unusual first name and his charisma does not point to a Muggle-raised child." Lucius paused just briefly, shooting a Ministry worker a warning stare as the foolish man tried to approach them. "He lives in an orphanage."

This piqued the Dark Lord's interest. Lucius knew very little about Tom Riddle, but he did know the man was raised in an orphanage.

It was always difficult trying to act normally around 'Tom Riddle' in public. It was not allowed to talk out of turn in the presence of the Dark Lord, and at times, some Death Eaters suffered at meetings for their lack of respect during the day at the Ministry.

"He resides in St. Patrick's Orphanage, a small Muggle orphanage near London. The turnout rate for adoption is the lowest in the region." Lucius looked to see if the Dark Lord was engrossed. The politician motioned for him to continue. "Apparently Mr. Harrison has no documented birth parents. He does not strike me as a Muggle-born. This boy is a prodigy."

The blond aristocrat watched as Izar pulled away from Ms. Greengrass, his expression clearly signaling his boredom.

"It's amusing, Lucius, that you express such an interest in a boy that may very well be our enemy."

Lucius stiffened, realizing he may have stepped over bounds at expressing his interest in a declared Mudblood.

"Alas, I feel the draw to him, just as strongly as you do. If not more…" Tom Riddle stood up, casting Lucius a cold look, yet his eyes were hungry. "Introduce me to the child."

Lucius cast a smug, lipless smile. Oh my, the Dark Lord's interest was sweetly toxic.

**Death of Today**

Izar pulled out a pocket watch, looking at the time. Only a few minutes left.

Owen Welder, the head Unspeakables, had forced Izar to attend the Ministry ball for at least two hours. The man claimed Izar could use a bit of socializing, as Unspeakables were intelligent _not _antisocial. From what Izar knew, this gathering went on all night. He wondered how anyone could enjoy such a gathering for the better part of the day.

"Mr. Harrison," a voice interrupted Izar's musings.

Without looking up from the pocket watch he stole from one of the children at the orphanage, Izar already knew who blocked the path in front of him.

Three years at Hogwarts had passed before Izar realized the static he could feel from others was his ability to feel and sense magic. As he grew older, he became more sensitive to sensing the magic around him. A prime example of his lack of ability at the age of eleven was his inability to sense magic coming from McGonagall, yet now, he could feel her aura quite well. She was a powerful witch, a very light and pure witch, but not nearly as powerful as Dumbledore and Severus Snape. Izar even felt the students' growing magic. Even the objects around the castle carried a signature to them that he could sense.

Regrettably, he couldn't feel any magic coming from himself. That intrigued him into researching. Apparently, there were other magic-sensitive wizards who couldn't sense their own aura.

Being around Dumbledore had helped Izar control his shaking and relapse from being surrounded by so much power. A part of the reason for being so interested in magic and magical theory was because of his gift of feeling and sensing magic. He enjoyed tapping into the core of magic and stripping the layers, studying every characteristic.

"Mr. Malfoy," Izar murmured in greeting. He snapped his pocket watch closed before dropping it in his robe pocket.

Gazing at the tall man, Izar took special interest in tracing the man's face. One thing that hadn't diminished through his years at Hogwarts was his interest in other people. He enjoyed observing them and looking for flaws, for ticks.

It appeared that Draco's negative view on Izar hadn't affected his father's own interest. Lucius was observing Izar just as interestedly. The cold grey eyes swept the length of his body. "Very flattering robes, Mr. Harrison, for a fitting celebration. I'm assuming the board has invited you here in congratulations for passing your O.W.L.s and continuing on at a higher level?"

Izar looked down at his secondhand robes, knowing a taunt when he heard one. He hadn't any money to get decent robes. His paycheck would come to him at the end of the summer. Even then, Izar would probably give most of it to Hogwarts in order to pay off some of his loan.

Without expressing any emotion, he looked back up at the man. "Something like that, Mr. Malfoy." Clearing his throat, he took a step back. "Now if you excuse me, I need to get back _home_."

Before he could turn, he felt the familiar sensation of goose bumps raising the length of his arms. Izar pinpointed it to a strong aura, similar to that of Dumbledore's, but far darker, richer. Slowly, Izar turned to look at the man or woman who had piqued his interest. To his surprise, the man was standing directly behind him.

He had to strain his neck back to meet the eyes looking down at him. Izar took a step back again, this time, so he wouldn't have to look like a fool for craning his head back so far.

"Mr. Harrison," Lucius' pleased voice tickled his ears. "I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Tom Riddle, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister."

Izar was speechless for the first time in years. He was stunned at the power he saw in this man, this stranger. Granted, he had read about Tom Marvolo Riddle in books. The wizard was a successful politician. Seeing him in person, Izar noted how tall he was and the way he carried himself with pure arrogance and power. It was what he imagined Dumbledore would stand like if the man weren't so gentle and kind.

Moreover, he felt drawn to this man's charisma. It was a very strong pull, one that Izar could discount, but painful when ignored.

Tom Riddle reached out a hand, snapping Izar from his musings. How pathetic. Why was this man, who was just as powerful as Dumbledore, affecting Izar so much? He hadn't felt like this since First Year when he just discovered the feeling magic.

Just as Izar thought Riddle would offer his hand, he was taken aback a second time when the man's hand climbed to grasp his chin instead. Izar was already looking Riddle in the eye, but the hand on his chin made sure his attention did not waver. Slowly, if enjoying the sight before him, Riddle turned his face this way and that.

"Mr. Harrison, it's a pleasure," Riddle murmured, though it sounded more like a purr.

When he felt shock-like waves traveling across his skin at the man's touch, Izar made sure to file the information away for later. It wasn't normal. It was normal that he could vividly sense the man's power, but his reaction to Riddle was _not _normal.

Riddle's hand dropped from his chin and traveled down the length of his right arm before cool fingers curled around his hand. Izar stood there stupidly as Riddle shook his rather limp hand.

The younger wizard looked away from Riddle and toward Lucius Malfoy. Through narrowed eyes, he noticed the blond-man's pleased and knowing smirk. Izar didn't like this… this secrecy going on between the two men. He didn't take kindly to being played because he was younger and less pure.

Izar became guarded and aggravated. Why must everything be about blood lineage?

He pulled his hand from Riddle's grasp, irritation spreading hotly across his chest. "Whatever game you're playing, I want no part of it." He directed it at Riddle, the more powerful source of his frustration. He looked the man in the eye, not at all frightened. "I don't step foot into politics, nor do I ever plan to. And that includes socializing with the likes of the both of you."

Shocking orange hair caught his eye and Izar directed his attention to Owen Welder, the Head Unspeakable. "Mr. Welder," Izar raised his voice, catching the man's attention.

The Unspeakable was very tall and muscular. He was a big man with bushy orange hair that spread across his face and into a beard. He reminded Izar vividly of Hagrid, the half-giant at Hogwarts.

"It's five past nine. May I leave now?"

"Ah, my boy!" The man grunted, a pleased smile spreading selfishly across his mouth. He dug into his robe pocket, producing a small book. He tossed it and Izar caught it in one hand. He knew it was the Portkey that would bring him back to the orphanage. "I'll see you tomorrow." He winked and continued forward, nursing a rather large goblet of wine and a rosy hue across his cheeks.

Before Izar could activate it, his right wrist was shackled by long fingers. He was tugged rather harshly toward Riddle, the man's anger obvious. Riddle's magic became a bit hot and uncomfortable, undoubtedly due to Izar's disrespect.

"I assure you that you're assumptions are ill thought of. There is no 'game' we are playing with you." Dark brown eyes were nothing short of intense.

He found himself locked on the gaze, unable to turn away from the challenge he saw in there. "I find that hard to believe," Izar whispered, trying to pull his wrist away from Riddle. The man refused to let go. "Why are you wasting such a large amount of dark magic on being a politician? There is something more to you."

"This is hardly the place to discuss such matters." Hardly unfazed at Izar's admission, Riddle pulled away, looking down at him with something akin to admiration.

Izar's curiosity piqued when he realized the man wasn't denying his assumptions. He knew there was more to Tom Riddle and Izar wanted to know all of it. It was his nature to know all about something, not just bits and pieces. However, he could sense the danger leaching from Riddle. The man was an enigma and also a precarious wizard. If Izar continued his curiosity, he may find himself in a place he couldn't run.

"I'm afraid I'm due back home," Izar replied sharply, inclined not to mention the orphanage was far from 'home'.

"I know where to find you."

It was both a warning and a promise. Riddle knew about him already and he would also use that to his own advantage. Izar gave a stiff nod, grasping his Portkey and tapping it with his wand. It grew hot in his hands.

He only had seconds, but it was enough time to catch the predatory glint in the man's eyes.

Why did Izar feel as if he just put himself in a predator's grasp? He wouldn't deny the excitement coursing through him. He had been playing safe for the majority of his life. A little excitement couldn't hurt him. Besides, he had always found the Dark Arts captivating.

"I will see you soon," Riddle murmured softly as Izar was pulled away.


	3. Part I Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Izar wrapped the hood securely around his face as he walked down the halls of the Department of Mysteries. The ninth floor of the Ministry was a drop of at least twenty degrees. Unspeakable's cloaks came with hoods and special material that was spelled to keep in body heat. The robes were comfortable enough, and they always seemed to blend into the chambers at the Department— which was something Izar preferred. Being in the shadows always comforted him.

Glancing down at the ridiculously polished black stone, he studied his gloom reflection that stared back at him. This was his fifth week working here. It took him two long weeks before he knew his way around the Department without getting lost. Most unwelcome guests got lost, and if they entered wrong doors without access, without permission, they would no doubt be very unfortunate to meet the experiments on the other side.

The Department of Mysteries was entered by going through a plain corridor. Once the guest entered, they would walk upon the highly polished black floors until they stood in a circular room with twelve doors. The guests would then become dizzy and confused at the doors without handles.

Luckily, Unspeakables were welcomed here. The doors wouldn't play tricks on the employees. Still, it came with a trained eye in order to navigate your way around the Department.

Without looking up from the ground, Izar could feel the pull to the Death Chamber. He took a deep inhalation, trying to calm his spiking curiosity.

The Death Chamber was a large room that held the stone archway— the Veil. Izar had been intrigued and obsessed with it ever since he was shown the tour of the Department. Unspeakables typically got to choose where their area of expertise laid. There was the Love Chamber— also known as the Ever-locked Room, the Time Chamber, Space Chamber, Thought Chamber, and the Hall of Prophecy. There were also a few rooms in which Unspeakables just experimented with magic to create new and improved health equipment and advanced objects for battle or other useful objects.

The latter is where Izar had been assigned. For now. He didn't mind experimenting on things, simply because he _enjoyed _doing that. Yet… he was drawn to the Death Chamber. He _wanted _to work there. Whenever he was curious about something— about magic or an object— his curiosity always pained him until he quenched that thirst of knowledge.

Sighing lightly, Izar entered the door to his right quickly with a palm against the door. It grew hot as it tasted his magical signature before it clicked open.

He stepped inside, his eyes briefly studying the tables of Unspeakables who were bent over different items. A few looked up at him just briefly before going back to their work. Their fingers were working diligently, either tinkering with their item, writing furiously with a quill, or using their wand to test the magic.

Izar slowly walked over to his bench, feeling relieved to see the stack of his Time-Turners completed. Owen Welder, the Head Unspeakable, had given him the task of completing a half a dozen Time-Turners. It's what every new recruit had to accomplish. There was never a shortage of Time-Turners, unfortunately. While it was very difficult to construct the Time-Turner at first, Izar had grown accustomed to making them. Most of the materials were provided by the Time Chamber; the grain of sands and the unique glass that wouldn't combust with time travel— Izar only had to spell the grains of sand.

It had been fun- constructing the Turners, but Izar wanted to start on something new today. And with a quick look at the pile, Izar was happy to see a solid eight Time-Turners completed.

"Harrison," a voice barked.

Izar looked over his shoulder, eyeing the heavy-set man approaching him. "Mr. Welder," Izar greeted softly, his fingers caressing the edge of his stainless steel table. "Have you got a new project for me?"

He assumed, because he was only fourteen that he had to be managed and supervised more than the other Unspeakables. The more experienced Unspeakables made their own schedules and started their own projects without word.

But Izar would take what he could. When he got older, he would be free to do whatever he pleased.

"Not exactly," the man grunted as he came to a stop next to Izar's sitting form. "You wouldn't mind making six more Time-Turners— would you? There is an issued demanded for an order of them. You're one of the fastest, kid." The hand that patted him on the back nearly knocked Izar's lungs out.

He remained bowed forward from the hit, his eyes narrowing underneath his hood. "Of course, Mr. Welder," he replied silkily. It was the last thing he wanted to do. Bloody Time-Turners. "When would you like them completed?"

"Next week, Wednesday."

Izar flashed the man a tight smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "They will be completed, Mr. Welder. After which, may I continue off my own? I'd like to try my hand at creating something."

The orange beard peeked from beneath the man's hood as the man chuckled richly. "Wouldn't we _all _like to create the next best thing?" Izar bit the inside of his cheek as his expression remained blank. Welder motioned to the Unspeakables around the room. "Some of us spend years completing that _one _ideal only to find out its useless to the general public. You won't be able to construct anything overnight, kid, but you may go on your own after the Turners are complete."

Owen walked away, chuckling under his breath at the irony of a mere child wanting to invent something.

Izar watched the man go, his eyes zeroed on the man's back. "That's what you think," Izar whispered softly, barely loud enough for his own ears.

Giving an irritated sigh, he looked at the Time-Turners. He would need to visit the Time Chamber again to gather the needed materials.

**Death of Today  
**

Izar dragged his feet toward the orphanage up ahead. He had donned on his Muggle clothing after work and had portkeyed his way over. It was his means of transportation nowadays. He couldn't wait until he was legally of age to apparate. It would make things a lot easier. Granted, he had read about apparating and the techniques, but he had yet to try it. It wasn't _legal _to apparate at the age of fourteen.

Did that include fourteen-year-olds who worked as an Unspeakable?

He stumbled on his own feet, grimacing down at his worn sneakers. The lip of his shoes was detaching from the sole. It was making it difficult to walk in and it even _looked _horrible. If Lucius Malfoy could see him now… if the man thought his second-robes had looked horrendous, he hadn't seen Izar's ripped jeans and a worn shirt. All Muggle, of course. The blond would have a heart attack.

Izar found that he didn't really care what the blond would think. In fact, he wouldn't mind showing up at the next Ministry Ball in Muggle clothes.

Entering the gated orphanage, Izar carefully maneuvered around the Muggle children as they sprinted back and forth in front of the building. Some were playing with chalk while others were playing at the courtyard, enjoying the summer day.

Izar paused on the chalked steps to the orphanage, staring out toward the swings. He had always enjoyed the swings when he was younger, yet he never really got the chance to ride them. Louis and a few of his friends had always beat Izar away from the swings. At times, when Izar had gotten the chance to swing early in the morning, he found himself being attacked from behind. He was seven when Louis had pushed him off the swing in mid-air.

He had chipped a tooth and broken his arm. Those injuries didn't hold a flame to the others he had received in this orphanage.

But Izar did learn one thing that day. He would stay away from the swings.

Izar clenched his jaw, his eyes brightening. Why must he always reminisce like this? Why couldn't the past just stay _buried_?

Feeling disgusted with the inability to forget— Izar entered the dim and depleted orphanage. It smelled of mold and mildew, a scent Izar had gotten used to throughout the years. He always associated mold with Muggles and he always associated musk with orphanages.

"Izar," the front woman greeted. "How was your day of work?" Her painted lips parted, revealing her rather dim colored teeth.

"Just great," Izar muttered; walking past her, not interested in chit-chat.

"You should know you have a visitor in the conference room," she replied cheerfully, not affected by his gloom demeanor.

Izar stopped in his tracks, feeling a cold rush down his spine. "A visitor?" he whispered, his eyes averting away from the stairs he was about to climb to the closed door further along the entryway. The conference room was used for visitors and potential parents who were looking to adopt. He figured it was the earlier.

He had forgotten all about Tom Riddle.

"Yes, a visitor; a very charming man." Her lips melted into a celestial smile. "He arrived about an hour ago. I told him you were working, but he insisted on waiting for you. He's a very—,"

"Charming man, yes, I heard you the first time," Izar spoke dryly, moving passed her and toward the conference room. Was he ready for this? How much threat could Tom Riddle pose at a Muggle orphanage?

He opened the door and found his answer within seconds.

Yes, Tom Riddle could easily make trouble at a Muggle orphanage.

The man, not at all like he appeared yesterday, was lounging in a transfigured chair, his hooded eyes intensely drawn on Izar. Izar immediately felt nude before the man. Earlier, he had boldly proclaimed that he wouldn't mind wearing his Muggle outfit to the next Ministry Ball. He discovered that was a fib, especially if Tom Riddle would be attending, because right now, he felt inferior to the man, almost vulnerable. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed or experienced frequently.

The man no longer looked like his sixty year old self. Instead, his thick black hair was tied at the nape of his neck, showing off sharp bone structures of a younger face. Riddle was a defined looking man. Some may find it hard to see him as handsome and only see him as powerful, but Izar thought he was attractive— especially those crimson eyes that taunted him from the doorway.

If Izar couldn't sense Tom Riddle's familiar magic from the night before, he would have thought he was looking at a stranger.

"So glad you could make it," Riddle drawled lazily.

Izar bowed his head, his fingers tightening on the door handle. For a moment, he gathered himself and his pride. After a short mediation, he pushed away his feelings of vulnerability and defenselessness. He didn't have to feel this way with Tom Riddle. Izar wouldn't let himself appear weak and shaken. He was just as good… just as good…

Lifting his chin, he shut the door behind him and entered further into the room. Trying to avoid Riddle's spiteful smirk, he sat down in the chair next to the man. "I wasn't expecting you today," Izar started off calmly. His eyes boldly locked on Riddle's crimson. "Especially with your true form."

Black eyebrows rose. "How do you know this is my true form?" The man mused out lowly. "How do you know I'm not disguising myself?"

"You _are_ disguising yourself," Izar pointed back. "Last night was your disguise. I was right, assuming that you had something -other then politics- in mind, wasn't I? You… you have power, just like Dumbledore, yet Dark."

Riddle shifted at the mention of the old Headmaster. It wasn't noticeable to most, but Izar was drinking in every move and every expression Riddle put out. "You are an intriguing child," Riddle spoke. "Why do you think I have power? Power that would rival Dumbledore's?"

The man was testing him, looking for any faults or errors.

Izar sat back in his chair, pondering if he should share the information of his gift. In the end, he decided it wouldn't be a danger. "I'm magic-sensitive." Riddle's pupils brightened a bit at the confession. "I can feel and sense magic from both objects and people. Their auras, you could say, are easy for me to read. I can distinguish their magical signature and their magical core. I could feel you last night and knew then, that you weren't planning on wasting your power just on politics."

Izar licked his lips, aware of the crimson eyes that followed that action. He leaned forward; closer to the man's pleased humming magic. "Which brings us to the reason why you're here, I gather. Just what _are _you planning?"

For a long while, Riddle sat there, frozen, staring and studying Izar. It didn't unnerve Izar. Instead, he was thrilled at the attention and sat just as motionless, challenging the stare head on.

Tom's lips quirked upward a few minutes later. "You have maturity and wisdom far beyond your sixteen years, child."

Izar didn't even bat a lash at the mistake in his age. Let Tom Riddle think he was sixteen. Izar was sure that Riddle assumed he was sixteen because he was entering sixth year. But that pointed to the idea that Riddle didn't know much about him. Which made Izar a bit anxious. If Riddle didn't know Izar had skipped a grade due to outstanding intelligence and that Izar was an Unspeakable, then what was it that drew the man to him?

Izar was used to people wanting to use him because of his unusual intelligence, but he was puzzled as to why Riddle was drawn to him.

"I suppose that's a compliment," Izar continued without pause in conversation. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be here." He chose to keep the information tight-lipped that he was only fourteen. Well… fifteen in a few days.

Riddle reached forward. Izar noted briefly that the man's nails were longer in this true form.

His skin prickled in tiny shocks as Riddle traced his index finger down Izar's jaw line. A fire in his belly erupted and Izar did all he could to keep from showing emotion. Gratefully, the man removed his finger quickly, an expression of bewilderment crossing the man's features before he cleared it away expertly.

It was too bad Izar caught it.

"Would you like some tea?" Tom questioned lightly, his bright crimson eyes taking on a malicious gleam. Before Izar could answer, the door opened to the conference room. Louis walked inside, holding a tarnished silver tea tray.

Izar stiffened, aware of the crimson eyes watching him, but he couldn't look away from the slack face of his child-tormentor. Louis's blue eyes were dull and lifeless. There was a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth as he set down the tray of tea in front of Tom Riddle. "Master, your tea," the voice that spoke was just as void as the eyes.

Izar's lips thinned. "You put the Imperius curse on him," he accused, turning to look at the smug Tom Riddle. Izar wasn't upset over the fact that Tom used an Unforgivable. He was upset because Louis was _his _enemy, his target. But Tom Riddle got to him first.

"Interesting that you would know that. As far as I know, Hogwarts students haven't been taught the Unforgivables." Riddle cleared his throat, motioning Louis. "Pour the tea, boy."

Izar sat motionless, observing the way Riddle's magic soaked Louis due to the Imperius curse. The air was heavy with sinister and threat. It was Dark and oppressive, but not uncomfortable. Just something Izar felt on guard with. He knew he was playing in a field he had no experience in. If Riddle had the desire to kill him, he could do so and _no one _would be the wiser.

"The lovely Muggle woman up front told me you were at work," Riddle took his tea cup from the table and sipped at it, his eyes all for Izar. "Where do you work?" The question was posed airily.

Izar dropped his gaze from the bright crimson in favor of staring at the steaming cup of tea. "I work at a Muggle restaurant downtown. It gives me something to do to pass the summer away."

Riddle gave a low hum, his fingernails clicking once against the porcelain tea cup. His expression didn't give anything away if he believed Izar or not. "I hope you don't mind if I took the liberty of looking around the orphanage while in your absence. It's such a quaint little home." There was a dry sarcasm there and Izar grew stiff with suspicion. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. "Quite—,"

Izar stood up abruptly, his palms slamming against the table. His temper hitched, causing the porcelain cups and saucers to clatter together. Izar leaned forward, his eyes narrowed on the unaffected man across from him. "If you've come here to disgrace me, you've wasted your time. I may be a Mudblood, but I can walk circles around most of your stuck up pure-bloods."

Riddle reacted faster then Izar could have imagined.

With reflexes that rivaled a striking serpent, Tom Riddle stood up, towering over Izar. His hand shot out and clamped his jaw together painfully. The red eyes that looked down at him were like twin burning coals.

Izar found that his heart stopped for just a moment.

"You have a tongue on you that I will need to _tame_, child. We can either do that the easy way or painful way. That is up to you. I will require respect. Today I am giving you lenience, only because I am courting you."

"Courting?" Izar asked. It came out as a muffled mumble with Riddle's fingers still clamping around his jaw.

"I came here today to give you the option of becoming my follower or my enemy." Tom pulled his hand away, casting a long look at Izar. "I am a Dark Lord. And you, Izar, have piqued my interest. So what will it be?" The question was too broad. A question Izar was sure Riddle asked to overwhelm him.

Izar found his knees weak. He sat down on his chair, staring at Riddle's black cloak. He had suspected this. He _had. _Yet it still came to a shock for him when Tom had announced it so bluntly. So many questions were whirling around in his mind, questions that could remain unanswered while some needed to be answered _now_, before he committed to something he had no idea what he was committing to.

But he_ did_ realize that he was backed into a corner, a corner that was both dangerous and unavoidable.

"You're a Dark Lord," Izar whispered softly before looking up at the crimson eyes. "I need to know what your ideals are. I need to know when you plan on an uprising. The _Prophet_ hasn't reported anything of you or your followers, assuming you have any."

"I have time for questions, as long as you keep your tongue in check."

Izar watched through composed eyes as Tom Riddle sat back down. And as if nothing had happened, the older man took his tea cup once again, nursing it between his long, pale fingers. "As I was about to say earlier, I had looked around your orphanage during your absence. I have the ability to see into minds and witness memories." Izar's spine stiffened. "You've had a troubled childhood just because you were different from the rest of them, didn't you? This boy here," the man motioned to Louis. "Especially, has created hell for you since a mere toddler."

"You had no right to do that," Izar spoke softly, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed at Riddle. "That was my privacy, my own memories, something I hold very precious to me."

Riddle leaned forward, his eyes not at all sympathetic. "Do I look like someone who cares about privacy? You are a potential follower; I deserve to known anything and everything about you. Do I not?" The man didn't wait for Izar to continue. "I will ask you once, Izar, and only once. What do you feel about Muggles?"

"I hate them," Izar replied without hesitation. He glanced at the zoned-out Louis. "I've hated them all my life. They're inferior to us, yet they treat us like scum. They're afraid, jealous, but still, they aren't reverential." Izar blinked at Louis before turning to look stoically at Tom. "That's what I think of Muggles."

Riddle stared at Izar for a long moment.

"We are very much alike, Izar. More than you could ever hope to know."

The man stood up, setting his tea cup down before approaching the sitting form of Izar. Surprisingly, the man crouched down near Izar's chair, reaching forward to splay his hand on the younger's cheek. The hand was ice-cold, despite recently being wrapped around a hot cup of tea.

"Tomorrow night is an initiation. A few other younger wizards will be branded with my Mark tomorrow night. I confess that I look forward to you being within my ranks." Izar found it difficult to breathe with Riddle so close. Never before had Izar sensed magic this alluring, this fascinating. Even if it was similar to Dumbledore's, Riddle's magic was a lot more charismatic and Dark. "All you need to know is that I plan on destroying Muggle stains on the wizarding world. Our world will not bow before the Muggles' wants and needs. We are our own entity."

Red eyes burned and the fingernails inched deeper into Izar's cheek before the man scraped them against his cheek in a painful claiming. The younger wizard refused to wince at the burning mark across his cheek.

Izar hated himself for trembling, but he could do nothing about it as Riddle leaned even closer, their noses touching just barely. "I hope you realize that I'm not trembling due to your rather _passionate_ speech," Izar started dryly, sarcastically. "I'm trembling from your magic." Izar felt as if he had to cover his arse. He didn't want the man to think him easily seduced. "I still struggle from relapses."

Riddle smirked. "I had forgotten of your gift, my little magic-sensitive. I will be greatly honored if you arrive tomorrow night." Eyes became hooded and Izar could have sworn the snake-like pupils dilated at the cause of their proximity. Izar trembled again, his lips thinning in frustration. Why did he have to be so affected by the man's magic? "No worries, Izar, I find you just as enthralling."

The man pulled away swiftly, setting something on the table before a motionless Izar. Before the young orphan could react, the man was out the door.

Izar gave a shaky exhale of breath, his body quivering at the magic still in the air. The bright side? He was sure, with the longer he was around Tom Riddle, the more comfortable he would become around the man's magic. Nothing like this embarrassing incident should happen again. It took a year to settle down around Dumbledore, it could take Izar a bit less for Tom Riddle.

It was just a phase…

Charcoal-green eyes looked at the object on the table, sensing the pulse of magic coming from it. It was a black crystal, a tiny black crystal set onto a chain. He knew it was a portkey.

As his hands settled, he reached for the chain and then the bit of parchment underneath. He unfolded it once to reveal the elegant scrawl of writing.

_Izar,_

_Let us set the time for seven thirty in which we will decide if you become my enemy or my faithful follower. _

The portkey would be leaving at seven thirty tomorrow night. Izar stared at the chain, wondering the best course of action. Was it smart to pledge his loyalty to a man that would kill— possibly slaughter as many Muggles as he could? The man was a Dark Lord, something the world hasn't experienced since the rise of Gellert Grindelwald.

He took one look at Louis, still standing lifelessly in the corner. "Louis," Izar snapped.

The boy slowly stepped forward. "Yes Master?" Slack eyes waited to do his bidding. A lipless smile crossed Izar's face at the boy's submission. He could have fun with this…

Knowing he would have to think longer- harder- about this initiation, he placed the humming chain around his neck anyway. The chain all but purred at the action.


	4. Part I Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Izar began to second guess his decision.

His adrenaline had long ago diminished at the prospect of killing Muggles and controlling them. Yes, he still wanted that and he still dreamed of a wizarding world that didn't even have to mention the word 'Muggle'. Riddle's promises were enough to make _any_ man crawl to the Dark side and kiss the Dark Lord's feet, no matter how proud he was.

But as his adrenaline dissipated, his intelligence came back. Izar was very fortunate that he got a full day to really think on his decision of joining the Dark Lord.

Taking the Mark of a future Dark Lord was far from smart. He worked at the Ministry, with the Unspeakables more specifically. Not only that, but he was still attending Hogwarts. However, he couldn't blame it all on his association with Light wizards. Izar also needed more information on the organization itself.

He wasn't comfortable asking Tom Riddle about his concerns and issues, only because Izar didn't know how to approach the subject with a Dark Lord. He wasn't familiar with Tom Riddle, and in so, he wasn't familiar with the man's lenience. How far could Izar go questioning the man before Riddle hexed him or got tired of his curiosity? Dark Lord's weren't known for their merciful lenience, or their kind disposition. Riddle didn't _care _about others, Izar knew that much. The only thing Dark Lords cared about is if they had enough soldiers to carry out their cause.

After thinking long and hard about the idea of becoming Tom Riddle's follower, Izar decided he needed to proceed with caution when turning down the Dark Lord. His refusal could go of two ways.

One, Tom Riddle would see his absence tonight as a declaration of being an enemy.

Or two, the man would leave him alone for a bit longer before coming after him a second time with the promise of a Mark.

The latter seemed far from realistic, Izar knew. From what he read about Dark Lords, they were possessive- and proud creatures. If someone turned down their cause, they would hunt after their prey until they were slaughtered for refusal to join.

And even if Izar could think himself prepared for a Dark Lord after his blood, he was smart enough to know he _wasn't _ready to hold off the Dark forces by himself. Which is why he configured a plan for tonight. If he could just… pique the Dark Lord's interest a bit more….perhaps the man wouldn't think so quickly to kill him for not taking his Mark.

If Izar had to choose if he wanted the Mark yesterday, he would have been all for it. Tom Riddle was a decent seducer; one that Izar was sure won the man many promising allies. Izar found himself a bit embarrassed for being so easily seduced by the dark promises of destroying Muggles. Tom Riddle found his weak point and had expertly acted upon that. It was a pity the Dark Lord mistook Izar for a boy who wouldn't let those dark promises die. Riddle assumed Izar's thirst for killing Muggles would grow and grow until he acted upon those dark promises.

The man mistook Izar for a dreamer.

It was a misfortune on Tom's part that Izar was the exact opposite. Izar was logical and level-headed. His hunger accompanying those promises had dimmed significantly with time before his mind began to think logically. Those whispered pledges Riddle spoke to him the day before hadn't increased in volume as Riddle wanted them to- instead- they had dulled into nothing but a faint memory.

If Tom Riddle had known Izar's character, the man wouldn't have allowed Izar to think on it. He should have visited the day of the initiation.

But Izar was glad Riddle had not taken that route. He knew there would be consequences for dabbling into an alliance with a Dark Lord, especially a Dark Lord that had _yet _to prove himself in Izar's eyes. How did Izar know if Tom Riddle would be a successful Dark Lord? Yes, the man had power, but that did not mean Tom Riddle would be a decent Dark Lord- a decent leader.

Although Izar would be denying the Dark Lord his Mark, he didn't want to make enemies of the man.

And on the top side of this situation, Izar would be getting rid of his greatest weakness.

His Muggle tormentor.

"Louis," Izar whispered softly, his eyes on the freshly inked parchment. "Come here."

"Yes Master," Louis, still under the Imperius, approached Izar at the desk with heavy-laden legs. The drool at the corner of the Muggle's mouth had crusted over in white flakes. Izar eyed it in disgust.

"I have a very important task for you tonight," charcoal-green eyes glanced at his worn down pocket watch. "In a matter of minutes, actually. It will be of _great _honor, I assure you."

He ignored the monotonous response in favor of reading over his letter. In order to calm the rage that the Dark Lord might feel, Izar used curiosity and intrigue as means to keep Tom Riddle from hunting him within minutes of realizing Izar had stood him up. And in doing so, Izar had to reveal a few personal tidbits. He never enjoyed telling someone of himself, it was arrogant and supercilious.

_Tom Riddle,_

_I have written to apologize for my lack of presence. While you have stirred my interest greatly at your rising empire, I have to decline at this time. I am not a dreamer, I do not let my foolish and childish dreams at destroying Muggles cloud my judgment. That, Mr. Riddle, was an expected move on your behalf. You played your part at seducing my desires greatly, and I can only express my awe at your skill. Most men are dreamers, but I, even for my young age, am rational. I wish to know more about you and your followers. And in order to do that, I must remain at a distance. _

_I am only fourteen, Mr. Riddle, and I have many years to pledge my service to you. I also have strong ties to the Ministry. Carrying your Mark now, would be a heavy burden for me to carry._

_In other regards, I can assure you that your secret identity is safe with me. _

_I will never speak of you again, _

_Izar Harrison_

Izar grimaced at the letter, finding it juvenile and childish. The glaring words of 'fourteen' caught his eye like a flaming beacon. He didn't feel fourteen and he hoped to Merlin that he didn't _act _like a fourteen-year-old. Did his letter sound childlike? He hoped not. He didn't want Tom Riddle to not take him seriously because he was only fourteen. The man would think he could manipulate Izar easier.

Raking his tapered fingers through his hair, he folded the parchment and set the chain on top. It was only a two minutes before seven thirty.

The letter, he thought, didn't take a side. It didn't specifically say Izar was refusing the man, it just sounded as if he needed more time. Which he did. But hopefully… hopefully the man would leave him alone now. Surely the Dark Lord, after receiving the letter, would put Izar out of his mind unless he was insulted enough to hunt after him.

Izar wanted to remain neutral in this upcoming war. Though, even he knew that no one could be neutral unless they played the part extremely well. And even at the end, someone needed to declare a side.

"I want you to present this to Tom Riddle, Louis," Izar's hands shook just briefly as he handed the portkey and the letter to Louis.

Charcoal-green eyes were lowered as Louis took the items. By having Louis appear to the Dark Lord, Izar was presenting the man his weakness. Tom Riddle could no longer use his childhood-tormentor as means as blackmail, as means to promise Izar the chance of torturing his tormentor and killing him. The idea was so sweet- and so tempting- that Izar knew it was a glaring weakness. The very same weakness Riddle had played on.

He had to get rid of Louis. And the only way he knew how, without getting caught, was to present a Muggle to a group of wizards who despised the very ground they walked upon.

Izar would be surprised if Louis ever returned. Either that, or Tom Riddle would be smart enough to realize Izar had sent Louis in order to destroy his weakness. And the man would return the boy back to the orphanage as future leverage.

The latter _would be_ expected for an intelligent and manipulative Dark Lord. Izar would be slightly disenchanted if Riddle didn't suspect Izar's reasons for sending Louis. If the boy returned, Izar would be pleased simply because Riddle was _smart _enough to lead and understand small details. Although, Izar would also be disappointed if the Muggle came back because he would have to find a way to destroy Louis himself.

Through lowered eyes, and a quickly beating pulse, Izar watched as Louis was portkeyed away.

No matter how anxious he was, Izar knew he made the right decision. He needed to know more about Tom Riddle and his cause in order to know if pledging his loyalty was worthwhile.

**Death of Today  
**

Lucius clutched the file, feeling particularly proud of himself for his accomplishment. One advantage of being a school Governor of Hogwarts gave him the right to the students' files. This one, in his hands, particularly was what he was looking for. The files updated themselves each year with new information regarding their subject.

After the unanticipated initiation a week ago, Lucius had put in his request for Izar Harrison's file the day after. Six days later, he received authorization of the file. He did not need to see the file, no, he knew of the information that was contained inside. This was for Tom Riddle after the man received a Muggle in place of Izar Harrison a week ago at the initiation. The Death Eaters looking on did not understand the significance of a Muggle. In fact, they were all clueless to Izar's expected attendance aside from Lucius.

After ushering his son home after a painful branding to his arm, Lucius had been called by the Dark Lord. The man had shown Lucius the letter. At first, Lucius had been taken aback that the boy had confessed his true age to the Dark Lord. Though, it wasn't until he realized the point behind the letter did he realize it was a brilliant move from the boy.

Both the Dark Lord and himself decided the boy was trying to stall some time.

Other than that, the Dark Lord kept his opinion to himself, remaining silent on the subject. With a sharp order to Lucius to retrieve the boy's file, the Dark Lord never mentioned Izar Harrison again.

It wasn't very surprising that the Dark Lord wasn't speaking of Izar. The man never showed his interests, his emotions, and certainly not his favorites. Lucius was smart enough to see the unhealthy obsession Tom Riddle had with the fourteen-year-old Ravenclaw. Despite the man's skilled avoidance on the subject of the child, Lucius knew that if the Dark Lord wasn't obsessed with the boy— the child would be already slaughtered for denying the Dark Lord's Mark so rudely.

Considering the Dark Lord wanted to pursue the topic that was the estranged Muggle-born, proved to Lucius that Izar Harrison may be something a bit more to the Dark Lord then an average ally.

But what?

"Come in," the male voice called from inside the office. Lucius cast the desks surrounding the office a cold look before entering the private office of the Senior Undersecretary to Minister for Magic.

Lucius shut the door quietly behind him, eyeing the large stack of files and papers on the Dark Lord's desk. The man was bent over a piece of parchment, the useless spectacles on his face slipping down his nose as his quill moved with a charming flourish. Lucius cleared his throat, holding up the folder with a gloved hand. "I have the file you requested, sir," Lucius drawled, eager to see what the Dark Lord thought of the file.

The man paused, just briefly, and then continued to write. "On the boy?"

"The boy, yes," Lucius responded quietly.

The man made a disinterested sound in his throat, gesturing toward the stack of other files. "Just place it over there, I will get to it later, I suppose." There was that indifference the man was acting upon. Outwardly, he almost appeared as if the file was a trouble- a mere burden.

Lucius dropped his mouth in an 'awe' sort of understanding and his eyebrows rose mockingly. "Well, if you do not wish to look over it, I will just return it to the archives." With a sharp nod to the bent form of the Dark Lord, Lucius turned his heel to leave. And, if he wasn't mistaken, the Dark Lord would stop him just about—,

"Lucius," the man's tone was silky, a dangerous sort of warning. "I said I would look over it later. Set it here, now."

Clearing his smug smirk before turning around, Lucius walked back toward the desk. He purposely avoided the eyes on him, setting the file directly on top of the freshly written ink. "It would be in your best interest, My Lord, if you read it right away. I only have an hour with the file." Lucius began quietly, even if they were in the Dark Lord's warded office.

"If I wished for you to hold my hand while I read the file, Lucius, I would have asked you to do so." Nonetheless, the Dark Lord set his quill down in the ink and turned to the file. The first thing the man sought after was the birth date listed on the top of the file. As proved by the child himself, it listed his birth date as a child of fourteen, almost fifteen. The Dark Lord gave a light sneer.

Lucius took note of this. "If I may be so bold, My Lord, I would think you to be eager at the potential the child has shown for one so young. Instead, you seem… disappointed." He knew he was stepping over the line. He had to remember that this man in front of him was _not _just a politician.

"Lucius, if I wanted you to know _why _I am dissatisfied in the boy's age, I would share that with you," Riddle replied scathingly. Charmed brown eyes looked up at him sharply. "Watch your tongue and your place, Lucius, I do not find your observation impressive."

Lucius bowed his head, his eyes on the top parchment of the file. The file was not thick, as most students weren't. Yet, even Lucius could see a colored photo sticking out at the bottom. Just a sliver of it. His mouth turned downward.

Riddle turned the page, his eyes tracing over the O.W.L. scores. "Top marks for a child of his age; I suppose these were the exams that allowed him to skip a year?"

Lucius gave a sharp nod. "The results were higher than any of the fifth year students. He truly is a prodigy. Yet, he remains in the shadows. A very curious case, considering Muggle-borns crave that sense of acknowledgment from the wizarding world. Draco informs me that Izar doesn't hold anyone close to him at the school."

"He doesn't strike me as the type to strut around school," Tom mused out loud as he turned the next page. The next page was that of the photo. Lucius perked up, noting that it was the standard photo a Ministry worker had to take as their identification.

"He works in the Ministry?" Lucius questioned, his tone heightening with surprise. This document was new to the file. It hadn't been here at the end of the year when Lucius had looked upon it highly for the O.W.L. marks.

His eyes traced the photograph. Izar Harrison stood, holding his identification number in his hands at chest level. The Ministry identification photos were similar to that of the Azkaban snapshots, very similar indeed. The black cloak and the black background made the child's pale features stand out significantly. Lucius found his eyes dancing across the sharp-featured face, taking pleasure in looking at the face without having to worry about other's notice in his interest.

He would stand by his suspicions that Izar Harrison was _not _a Mudblood. The boy was far too beautiful- far too unique for a wizard who carried dirty blood. His features were exotic, _striking_. And Lucius didn't feel guilty for staring at the Ravenclaws face. No, Lucius always favored beautiful things. There was no shame at looking.

But if he didn't know any better, he'd say Izar Harrison looked remarkably similar to a—,

"The Department of Mysteries," the Dark Lord whispered; his fingers tapping against the photograph as his eyes fell on the Department labeled below the identification numbers. "Tell me, Lucius, how you managed to leave out the fact the boy was an Unspeakable at the tender age of _fourteen_?"

Lucius took a step back at the stare he was receiving from the Dark Lord. "I did not know, My Lord. Isn't this child exploitation? Working a child at the young age of fourteen is against the law- its illegal. Izar Harrison is a minor, with no guardian, he is illegible to work."

Tom placed the photograph down, his angry gaze averted from Lucius and on the smirking boy in the picture. The man did not say anything for a long while, his charmed brown eyes tracing over the boy's features. "You bring up a very good point, Lucius." The man began slowly. "The Ministry would find themselves in a predicament if this got out. However, I will not exploit this as of yet. Instead, I can use this to my advantage."

"How so?" Lucius watched as the Dark Lord's index finger ran almost lovingly down the cheek of Izar.

"There are many possibilities, Lucius. I already have one spy within the Unspeakables. Why not have two?" The man gave a soft sigh, shutting the file of Izar Harrison. "Conversely, if the Unspeakables have enlisted the child in their services, there must have been a valid reason." Tom Riddle turned to look at Lucius, his eyebrows raised. "It is my own mistake for not researching the boy before courting him. I realize now that I am not dealing with an ordinary _teenager_, but an adult in a child's body. Nonetheless, I must remember that he _is _only a child."

"Will you continue courting him?" Lucius questioned, understanding the Dark Lord's logic. A true prodigy was rare to come across. The Dark Lord would be a fool not to utilize his options. "Or do you think Dumbledore and the Ministry has already sunken their teeth in the boy?"

"I don't think Izar is a wizard who follows easily. I see him more of a silent leader with an army of only himself. He's a loner, a very rare occurrence in our time." Riddle handed the folder to Lucius, his lips molded into a thin line. "But I am confident I can snag the boy for myself."

Lucius took the file, giving a sharp nod. "I have confidence in your talents, My Lord."

Brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Remind me again, Lucius, why you are so interested in the child?"

Clearing his throat, Lucius lifted his chin. "I'm drawn to him, My Lord," he replied truthfully. "Just the same with you."

The Dark Lord chuckled darkly, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Let's hope, my friend, for your wellbeing, that it's _not_ the same for you as it is for me." Lucius frowned, unsure how to respond or reassure the Dark Lord.

Just what did the Dark Lord have in mind for Izar Harrison?

"Are we still set for this school year, My Lord?" Lucius quickly turned the subject, his spine prickling with chills at the Dark Lord's searching stare. "Draco is most excited and honored at your task you have bestowed him."

Tom's lips thinned, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "I am still ready, Lucius, yet I have changed my plans." Lucius remained expressionless, but he knew what the turn of events would entitle. Draco would be most unpleased.

And through lowered lids, he watched as the Dark Lord reached over and tapped his index finger against Izar Harrison's file. A predatory smile crossed Riddle's lips and the man's eyes mocked Lucius. "I want _him_ in our plans as a substitute."

**Death of Today  
**

Izar shut the door behind him, shuddering in distaste. The Time-Turners had taken him three days past his deadline. He had just gotten done today and Owen Welder had been a bit unimpressed with Izar's work.

_Three days past your deadline, Mr. Harrison, I'm a bit disappointed. _

Luckily, it was the end of the week. Izar didn't have to come back tomorrow, as it was Saturday. He could relax at the orphanage… how…ironic. Relaxing wasn't usually related to the orphanage, but Izar would rather be there then at the Ministry making more Time-Turners. Owen hadn't requested him to do any more and Izar assumed he could begin working on his own come Monday.

That thought was what made him eager to return. But he wouldn't get his hopes up. He was sure Owen would have another project for him to do.

At least he wouldn't have to worry about wizarding politics this weekend. He hadn't seen hide of Tom Riddle or heard anything of the man. Louis hadn't returned that night. Izar had been greatly disappointed. However, it lifted a bit of weight from his shoulders. He would never have to wonder what it would be like to follow a man as powerful as Tom Riddle.

Straightening up from the door, Izar was about to head toward the exit when he caught sight of the Death Chamber. He really shouldn't enter. Despite the room not being off limits to him, Izar was still afraid to enter simply because of getting too caught up in the mystery of it all.

Charcoal-green eyes swept the circular corridor before he approached the Death Chamber. Quickly, so he wouldn't change his mind, he placed his palm against the door, waiting for it to click open after reading his signature.

Izar entered the chamber, shivering subconsciously at the major drop of temperature. He would have been able to see his breath if the lighting wasn't so dim. Izar gave a soft, small smile as he entered the room fully. His feet glided elegantly over the uneven stone ground as he approached the middle of the room. The room itself was square in shape and the minimal light was directed below, bathing the old archway in an eerie glow.

Izar drank in the sight as he stood at the edge of the cavity. Stone tiers led down into a pit where a dais sat, and on the centre of the raised dais, the old stone archway- or Veil- stood tall. Izar chose to stay above ground, a distance away from the Veil, just incase he grew too curious.

He crouched down on the top of the cavity to the pit, greedily eyeing the tattered black curtain that hung from the archway. In the dark, his fingers caressed the uneven stone ground as he watched the black curtain flutter on its own. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the raspy whispers coming from inside the archway. To Izar, he thought it looked absolutely stunning. Seeing the Veil gave him pleasant chills and a driving urge to understand that piece of old architecture.

The room was very dim and Izar tore his eyes away from the archway long enough to compare the Death Chamber to the courtroom he had seen on his tour. Many stone benches ran the length of the room, leading down into the pit.

Everything in the room was silent, still, and cold.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Izar stood up, surprised to see a woman sitting on one of the benches leading down to the dais. He had been so involved with the archway that he hadn't looked around for another.

He shifted, staring at her. The first thing he noticed was how beautiful she would have looked if she wasn't so worn and thin. She was a frail-looking woman with long red hair and porcelain white skin. In her hands, she held a roll of parchment. Her hands, he noted, were very long and incredibly thin. The wrists were bony, revealing that the woman was incredibly thin. Izar didn't think she took care of herself. She was clean, yes, but she appeared as if she couldn't care a less about her appearance.

Her limp hair fell into her sharp face, drawing attention to her miserable gaze. Her mouth was in a thin line as she surveyed him right back.

"It is," Izar replied softly, feeling as if his voice traveled the length of the room. "I assume your line of study is here?" Her magic wasn't very powerful or incredible. He'd seen better, yet, it was somehow familiar to him.

She gave him a small smile, her eyes sweeping the length of him, almost drinking him in. "You assumed right," she looked away from him, just briefly. Izar watched her turned profile, noting that her expression all but crumbled. In whole, the woman looked worn- depressed. A moment later, her expression hardened again as she turned back to him. "I'm Lily Potter and you must be Izar Harrison."

It wasn't a question. And Izar wasn't surprised that she knew who he was. After all, most the Unspeakables were warned of his arrival before his first day here. "Your husband? James? He's an Auror, is he not?" Izar had dimly recalled reading about James Potter. Apparently he was a decent wizard who captured many Dark wizards in his young career.

"Yes, he is," Izar noticed she tried to keep her eyes averted away from him. "As you can see, I prefer the darker knowledge as my occupation." Pausing just briefly, as if she didn't want to know, she asked, "I imagine you're the same? Not many people, children especially, find the archway a beautiful place."

Izar gave a hum, his eyes turning away from her and back on the archway beneath. "I find myself intrigued with the Veil. Someday I hope to study it." Surprisingly, she was easy to talk to. Not that Izar _enjoyed _her or the conversation, but he wasn't bothered by it. He found it peaceful. Perhaps it was just because he was in the Death Chamber, a place that was peace in itself.

Lily stood up from her perch, tucking a few rolls of parchment into a satchel. After pulling the strap over her shoulder, she walked up the few steps to where Izar and the exit were. "Perhaps I could speak to Owen Welder about relocating you here." Izar picked up that her tone was slightly tentative, as if she couldn't believe she was offering him. "You're only here for the summer, correct?"

It was if she were _humoring_ Izar. She would only be stuck with him for a few more weeks and then he would no longer be her burden.

Izar narrowed his eyes a bit. He didn't like being treated like a child. "Thank you, Mrs. Potter, but I think I'll pass. If I want to study in here, I'll go to Mr. Weldon myself." He cast her a cold look and nod before turning to leave the Death Chamber.

_Really_.

Izar imagined Lily Potter, like all the other adults, didn't think he was even meant to be here as an Unspeakable, to hold worthy knowledge. No one ever took him seriously, no matter what his exam scores were. They thought him a joke.

Someday, Izar would prove them all wrong.

**Death of Today  
**

It wasn't until he got back to the orphanage when he realized his life couldn't possibly be relatively normal.

A boy, around ten years of age, came running to Izar as soon as he stepped foot in the orphanage. He gazed coldly down at the boy, a sneer upon his lips at the Muggle. "Izar," the boy's eyes were bright. "Louis came back!"

Izar stopped abruptly, his spine stiffening.

The orphanage had been in an upset when Louis had disappeared almost a week ago. Local authorities had searched for him, only to turn up empty handed. Izar had thought Tom Riddle had killed Louis, but apparently, he was wrong.

"He had blood _all _over and he could barely walk!" The child continued in a fast pace, his breathing coming out in sharp gasps at the excitement. "And the man gave me this. He wanted me to give you it."

A crumpled piece of paper was shoved under Izar's nose. With a quickening pulse, Izar took it and slowly unfolded it. Only three words, in elegant scrawl, appeared on the small piece of parchment.

_So be it. _

Izar frowned, yet he couldn't help as his stomach fluttered with appreciation. The Dark Lord _was _smart and manipulative enough to realize Izar had been trying to get rid of his weakness the easy way. The man had proved himself, just a bit more, in Izar's eyes.

Even if the small message was loaded with possible meanings, Izar knew one thing.

The Dark Lord had _definitely _not forgotten him.


	5. Part I Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

His fingers were trembling and a sweat drop fell from his brow, staining the table he was working on. His concentration was all for the object he was working with, everything else around him was null and void.

Izar grunted as the glass wouldn't _mold _into shape. It seemed that every time he tried to measure the dimensions, they altered on him, making the glass plane impossible to mold with the rest of the material. He had to admit, this piece of invention was _ugly_. But Izar wasn't a designer and this _was _his first draft. What mattered was the magic inside the… object. The shape itself wasn't even defined as a circle or box it was something in between with a few sharp corners…

His fingers stilled as he caught sight of the gloating eyes reflecting back at him in the piece of glass he held. It took him a moment to recognize the person staring back at him, and as he did, he dropped the piece of spelled glass, watching in horror as it shattered on the table he was working on.

It shattered, but it didn't explode like Izar had been expecting. His eyebrows drew together, staring at the shattered glass in distaste. It _should have _bloody exploded if he had spelled the right amount of magic inside the glass.

Drawing his teeth in a snarl, he turned slowly, staring at Tom Riddle with a mixture of surprise and irritation.

The man was looking down at him in haughtiness. "Mr. Riddle," Izar started off tranquilly, a bit of annoyance peeking through. "What…what are you doing down here?" The first thing he wanted to ask was how the man, the _Dark Lord, _ knew he worked down here, as an Unspeakable, but it really was common sense if Izar thought on it. The man was only second to the Minister and would have access to the Ministry files if so desired.

However, as his annoyance dulled, his suspicion took its place. It was a guarded suspicion. What did the Dark Lord have in mind, exactly? When Louis, his orphanage enemy, had returned to the orphanage last week with the note from Tom Riddle, Izar knew he wouldn't hear the last from the Dark Lord. And as suspected, here the man stood.

Even though Izar wasn't expecting their second meeting to be _here _of all places…

For a long moment, Riddle chose to remain silent, his eyes first searching over the project in Izar's hands and then taking a longer time to rake the length of Izar's face. "Your lunch period is approaching in a matter of minutes, is it not?"

That voice. It was too rich and too arrogant. But it made sense. It was the voice of a charmer, of a rising Dark Lord.

Izar pursed his lips, setting down his tools. They didn't do him much good anyway. "I wasn't planning on taking a lunch break today, sir," he said in all respect. His gaze drank in the man before him, almost awed. Izar would never outright show his awe or acquiescence, but he would show respect toward one as powerful as Tom Riddle. Not giving respect to a wizard who deserved it would only create problems and label the disrespectful wizard as foolhardy.

Around them, there were Unspeakables who paused in their work at the intruder. Their cool stares assessed the situation quickly before going back to their work once they recognized the Undersecretary of the Minister.

Riddle's eyebrows rose. "I think you will be taking a lunch break today, Mr. Harrison. I would most _enjoy _your presence."

It was an order coated with a sweetly sugared tone. Izar gave a light sigh as he stood up gracefully from his bench. Perhaps a break would do him some good. He needed to figure out why the glass, when shattered, hadn't given off a weak explosion. The properties in the spell he cast should have reacted with the break. Instead, it did nothing.

Izar followed Riddle out the Department of Mysteries. He passed the Unspeakables still working at their benches. Their inventions looked a hell of a lot better then his own. Izar was curious to know what they were constructing and the functions of each of their inventions. But it was a strict rule to keep silent on your own projects. No one spoke of their works and no one wanted to. It would was far too classified to speak to one another, just as it was about speaking to an outside source about their work.

_No one _knew exactly what an Unspeakable did, save for a few selected inside the Ministry itself. Even then, their knowledge was rather lacking. And it needed to stay that way.

Once they reached the elevator, Riddle reached over, pulling Izar's hood up securely. "Keep your face covered," the Dark Lord murmured softly as they were joined by another wizard on the eighth floor.

The man who stepped foot in the elevator wasn't shy about his observation of Riddle and Izar. Assessing and interested eyes traced Izar's uniform. Wizards were naturally curious of Unspeakables. And Izar could sympathize with them. Curiosity was not the best feeling to harbor, especially when someone, similar to Izar, went through emotional distress for a long while before his curiosity was sated.

"I hope your day has been going well?"

Izar glanced at Riddle next to him. The Dark Lord's expression gave nothing away. Was he furious with Izar? Feeling murderous over Izar because he had not taken the Mark? It was impossible to tell. All Izar could take comfort in was the man's magic. It was calm and tranquil today. Alluring as ever, yes, but the magic wasn't angry.

"As well as it can be, I suppose," Izar responded quietly, turning his eyes toward the stranger in the elevator. The man gave a polite cough in his fist before turning away from Izar with a slight flush to his cheeks.

Izar's mouth thinned at the flamboyant nosiness. Some people were _far _from discreet.

After what seemed like minutes, the elevator came to a stop at the main floor. Riddle ushered Izar out of the elevator, his taller frame dwarfing the younger wizard. "Forgive their boisterousness, Izar, they don't see Unspeakables often on the main floor, especially one so short."

Was that a jab?

Izar looked up at Riddle, his eyes narrowing. The man's lip was quirked at the corner, proving the Dark Lord actually had a sense of humor. Who would have thought? "Yes, well, Unspeakables _do _tend to shrink with the lack of natural light we see in the depths of the dungeons we work in." Izar replied dryly, playing on the stereotypical image Ministry workers had of the Unspeakables. Frankly, the majority of the population believed Unspeakables were hermits, drawn away in dungeons and locked away from society.

Riddle chuckled darkly; leading Izar past the Ministry dining hall. The man, noting Izar's questioning glance, replied lightly. "I hope you don't mind if we go off site for lunch." There was no room for argument even if Izar wanted to stay here, at the Ministry.

The only response Riddle received was a tighter tension in Izar's shoulders.

As they reached the cool air outside, Tom leaned close, his breath playing on Izar's sensitive skin. "Don't worry, I won't kill you." With that, Riddle curled his hands around Izar's thin shoulders, clutching him close.

Before Izar could comprehend it, he was side-long apparated with Tom Riddle to an unknown destination.

It took Izar a long moment to get a hold of himself. He all but slumped in Riddle's strong hold, fighting off the nausea rushing through his stomach and throat. He wanted to vomit, but he knew it probably wouldn't be a good idea to decorate the Dark Lord's sharp leather boots with his breakfast.

Once his head cleared, he assessed his surroundings. Instead of appearing in front of the salivating forms of Tom Riddle's followers, ready for murder, Izar was relieved to see a small café standing before him. "Have you ever dined at the Lauren McLeen?" Riddle questioned as his hand slid from Izar's shoulder to the small of his back.

Izar tensed at the physical contact, not at all used to touches, caresses, or anything remotely similar. Nonetheless, he remained expressionless to his distaste at the controlling hand on his back. "No, I… don't really have the luxury to dine out, especially at a café that looks as if they serve food upon golden dishes." His pale eyes studied the golden spoons on the silk table clothes.

Really? Did the wizarding world have anything better to spend their money on? Ah yes, they had the Ministry balls to pour their income on.

"Then consider it a birthday gift," Riddle remarked lightly, nodding his head toward the hostess who stood at the front behind her podium. She all but simpered at the sight of Tom Riddle, bowing her head as he passed the long line of waiting customers. No one complained once they caught sight of who was skipping the line.

Izar felt a bit odd as he passed the group of customers who were waiting to dine. Never had he had the privilege to walk out of turn, to be served out of turn. And he never had the privilege to have his own table at a fancy café like Riddle had.

The man led him over to a secluded table in the back of the café. It was shadowed and obscured by a tall, stone pillar. "A birthday gift?" Izar questioned, not at all sure what the man was getting at.

Izar stood stiffly next to his chair, waiting for the more important figure to seat first. Riddle, taking note in his gesture, smirked before sitting. "A gift, for your birthday today," Tom motioned for Izar to sit. His charmed brown eyes danced across Izar's taken aback expression. "Surely you did not forget your fifteenth birthday." The man's tone was clearly amused, yet a bit poignant.

After taking his own seat, Izar tucked the silk napkin on his lap. He had always read about these practiced manners when dinning with a more influential figure, but this was the first time he had used the mannerisms. "To tell you the truth, sir, my birthday has been the last thing on my mind." And it truly had. He had forgotten all about his birthday. It was never a big event in his life, especially when he never received one birthday greeting. No one knew of his birthday.

Tom Riddle was the first one to ever wish him a Happy Birthday.

"And what…" he leaned forward, pausing in order to push back Izar's hood. The heavy material fell away from his head, pooling near his neck. "Is on your mind?" His gaze turned infatuated as he surveyed Izar.

Izar looked down and away from Tom Riddle's piercing gaze as a waitress came to interrupt. She didn't necessarily interrupt; she just set down a cup of steaming tea in front of Riddle and one in front of Izar before turning away again. Watching her go, Izar contemplated on how to interact with Tom Riddle. He would be the first to admit that he wasn't skilled in the art of socializing or dancing politically with an Undersecretary of the Minister. Dark Lords were another matter.

What was he feeling now that the Dark Lord was speaking to him again? Izar admitted he was slightly flattered to endure the man's attention again. Any man or women would be _flattered _that a powerful Dark Lord was giving them attention, even after refusing their Mark. Izar knew the man wasn't livid about his refusal, which surprised him.

"I've been busy with my work, among other things," he chanced a glance upward, catching the charmed brown eyes.

Tom Riddle, in this sixty-year-old form, looked harmless. Granted, he still carried power and influence, but he wasn't as sinfully handsome and distractible. His true form was a lot more threatening to Izar.

"Yes, your work," Tom flashed a quick and short smirk. "The Unspeakables… I will readily admit that I was taken aback when I learned of your summer job. Tell me," he leaned forward, intent. "How did you find yourself in the Unspeakables' grasp?"

The man seemed interested enough. Izar wasn't used to adults giving him undivided attention like this. But then Izar remembered that Tom Riddle was a seducer. He had complete control over his expressions- his emotions. The man was brilliant at acting.

And despite the fact that many would consider Izar a socially awkward teenager, they didn't realize he was also brilliant with people.

Calming his expression, Izar flashed the man a lopsided smirk. "They contacted me after I took my O.W.L.s.," he said calmly, wiping off the smirk after it started to ache. He wasn't used to manipulating his mouth in any positive gestures. Smiling, smirking, grinning… they all took effort on his behalf. "Headmaster Dumbledore knows of my position at the Ministry. He spoke to me about working there. He will only allow me to work in the summer."

Riddle's expression darkened a bit before a deep pensive look took its spot. "He's your guardian of sorts?"

Izar blinked once, turning the question over in his head. "I suppose, in a way, he is. He signs my permission slip to go to Hogsmeade and he also takes care of the Ministry issues with me. Other than that, we aren't emotionally tied together." Izar reached out to the tea cup, wrapping his fingers hesitantly around the hot porcelain. He struggled to form his next question and settled with brutal honesty. "Can I ask you something, sir?"

Riddle hid his smirk behind the cup as he sipped his tea, his eyes assessing Izar. "You may," he murmured.

"If I guess correctly and assume you just found out about my status as an Unspeakable and my age, I was curious to know… what drew you to me. Why would you think I would make a decent follower if I was a Mudblood?"

Leaning forward, Tom set his cup down, raising his eyebrows in question. "And what makes you think that your blood status matters, child?"

Izar gave a polite sniff, his lips twitching to something akin to a smile. "Forgive me sir, but Draco Malfoy isn't all that subtle. I figure he and his family are Dark supporters and as a consequence, they are pure-bloods. He and a few other Slytherins look down their nose at me at times. I can only _assume _that you are similar in tastes. You don't like Muggles; therefore, you would dislike anything that comes from them. I, being born from two Muggles, am considered to be very low ranking to the pure-bloods."

Glancing around the café, Izar cocked his head, forging on with the conversation. "I also read about Gellert Grindelwald. He was a Dark Lord, similar to yourself, who was all for blood supremacy. He hated Muggles and didn't find much tolerance to Muggle-borns either." He cleared his throat, unable to really gouge an expression from Tom Riddle. "So forgive my intrigue at your notice. I would have thought you would look over me."

Riddle chuckled knowingly. "You've been overlooked your whole life, Izar. I'm sure, even now, you are uncomfortable with my attention, is that right?" The man didn't wait for Izar to comment. "Nonetheless, it was your eyes and walk, among other things that drew me to you."

"My walk?" Izar asked, bemused at the answer.

Before he could question the man further, a waiter approached them with a flourish. "Good afternoon, Mister Riddle and guest, what can I get you today?" The tone was of complete reverence. It was alien to Izar to be treated so respectful, doubtful of the fact that it was only because he was sitting across a rather 'friendly' and infamous politician.

"May I suggest an entrée?" Tom questioned Izar lightly. "I think I have an intuition what you would enjoy most." Those eyes… Izar looked away from Riddle with a nod, eyeing the safer route- the expectant waiter.

Izar wouldn't deny his vulnerable feelings around Tom Riddle. The man's gaze always looked mocking, almost predatory and hungry. Izar had never experienced being the center of someone's attention. _No one _noticed him like Tom Riddle did.

And it was unsettling, only because this was their third meeting, and _only _their third meeting. How could someone, who he had never met, make him feel on guard so much?

_Obviously, Izar, it's because he's a bloody Dark Lord, _Master _of Seduction and Charm. _The man was born into this sort of skill.

"Mozzarella crusted chicken breast," Tom started confidently and Izar hid a smirk behind his hand. He _hated _chicken. He wasn't very favorable of any kind of meat for that matter. It felt kind of good to have the Dark Lord fail so miserably at guessing his preference at a dish of food. "For me," Tom continued smugly. "And the vegetarian lasagna dish for my guest."

Izar dropped his hand like it weighed a ton. Suddenly grim and serious, Izar stared unseeingly at those charmed, smug eyes. Subconsciously, he was aware of the waiter nodding once before leaving their secluded table. Around their table, the sound of dishes clunking together rang harmoniously and the steady string of murmured voices floated across the café like rhythmic music. The male voices were a deeper tenor while the females brought a bit of heightened soprano.

But to Izar, all that was null and void as he stared stoically at the man across form him.

"You're a Legilimens," he stated darkly, feeling himself stiffen. He hated Legilimens. He had never excelled in that art and he grew envious of the wizards who were brilliant in that department. Both Dumbledore and Severus Snape were skilled Occlumens and Legilimens; it was a wonder to Izar how they excelled so skillfully.

"I am," Riddle acknowledged, not at all afraid to admit it. "But I will admit honestly that I am not in your mind finding out what foods you prefer, contrary to what you may be thinking. Let me rest assure you that I'm not so _gentle _when I enter one's mind. I enjoy their blinding pain." The man flashed a smile full of teeth and Izar found himself relaxing just a bit at that sadistic statement.

Still, he eyed Riddle with a bit of distrust and intrigue. Would it be out of line if he asked the man to teach him Legilimency or even Occlumency? Yes, it would be out of line, especially considering he had refused to take Riddle's Mark.

"Getting back to our original conversation," Riddle began. "Your walk is what caught my attention initially. I have never seen anyone saunter like you do. You hold both self-hatred and confidence in your shoulders, a very unlikely pair, yet it is _striking _and intriguing to see it in a walk. I admit you carry it well, though, I marvel at your personal demons."

A flush stained Izar's ears and neck at the man's admission. He never knew someone could carry emotions in a walk. Yes, he'd heard of self-consciousness, perhaps, but never the two emotions Riddle had put out. "And the others?" Izar cleared his throat uncomfortably, his fingers tinkering with the table forks. "You said there were other things that drew me to you."

"Ah, yes, I did," Tom nodded cheerfully.

Izar waited for the man to expand on his statement, but the man remained silent, sipping his tea.

Charcoal-green eyes narrowed. "I—,"

"I am going to give you an offer, Izar, and hopefully, you are smart enough to take it." Suddenly, the playful and seductive Tom Riddle had disappeared and in turn, the Dark Lord came through.

Oddly, Izar felt more comfortable around the menacing Dark Lord than the charming Tom Riddle. He knew how to act around the Dark Lord. He didn't know how to interact with a teasing and seductive politician.

But he was taken off guard when the Dark Lord reached across the table and curled his fingers around Izar's hand, a warning squeeze. "While I find your act of avoidance at taking my Mark amusing, I also find it insulting. Because I find you intriguing enough, I want to offer you something I have offered no other." Izar could have sworn crimson bled through the charmed brown eyes of Riddle. "I have another initiation tonight. I will allow you to sit in and get a sense of my army and my leadership. You will not need to take my Mark tonight; I will give you the chance to observe."

There was more, Izar knew. His face remained a blank slate, yet his attention never wavered from the narrowing threat of Tom Riddle.

The hand tightened around his bony wrist. "_However_, there will not be a choice any longer. You will either take my Mark before you start your next year of Hogwarts or you will become my enemy." The man tugged him forward across the table by a yank to his wrist. Riddle leaned in closer, his breath teasing and warming Izar's neck as he whispered in his ear. "This is the downside of catching my attention, the attention of a Dark Lord. I will stop at nothing until my Mark is branded on your skin. But I can guarantee you, once you take my Mark, you will still hold my interest. You will not become a mere number to me." The man paused, his breath hitching lowly. "I will not permit you to hide in the shadows as you prefer."

Riddle released Izar, sitting back in his chair.

Izar kept his eyes trained on Tom, finding it difficult to look away. Inside, he had a bit of a tremor. He had known this would happen. He had bought himself a week of time before the Dark Lord came after him. He was just lucky the man came to him with another offer than a death promise.

But he didn't need to observe. He knew what the meeting held. And even if the meeting _did _hold horrors that Izar would be forever scarred with, he knew he couldn't turn away.

"I don't need to observe tonight," Izar murmured softly. "Thank you, for the offer though," he replied a bit sarcastically, yet he kept it to a minimum. Izar was sure it was a very generous offer to his other followers. Tom Riddle didn't seem like a very merciful Dark Lord. "I'd rather just get _branded_."

And he knew Tom wouldn't argue with that. The man's delight was incredibly strong, even Izar could sense the pleasure vibrating through the man's magic. There was an alternative, though, to take the Mark. Izar could run to Dumbledore and take shelter under the old man's wing. But Izar couldn't bring himself to do that. He would take the Mark, only because he was intrigued with what the Dark Lord could offer and also because he wanted to demolish the Muggles in the wizarding world. At least Riddle was supporting a cause Izar wasn't afraid to back up.

"Good," Tom gave a lipless smile, his fingernails tapping on the edge of the table. "I have a gift for you after the meeting. I'm most anxious to give it to you."

"A gift?" Izar asked weakly. "For what?"

Tom laughed truly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Your birthday, silly child, have you forgotten already? I have just the gift to present you with."

**Death of Today  
**

Izar returned to the Department of Mysteries after a rather enjoyable lunch break. Despite the overwhelming reminder that he would no longer be a free man tomorrow, he had enjoyed Riddle's presence. Surely it wasn't the _true _Tom Riddle, their interactions felt fake, like a play. To Izar at least. He knew the Dark Lord couldn't possibly be this friendly to his followers. They were all below him.

He also came to the conclusion that there wouldn't be any dramatic alteration once he got the Mark. He would still be the same Izar, completely independent and free, he would just need to answer to a Master at times. It would be inconvenient, perhaps, but it wouldn't change his life so dramatically. In addition, he would be at Hogwarts for the next two years. Izar was more than sure the Dark Lord wouldn't make Izar and the other followers leave Hogwarts to attend a meeting.

It was impossible to be done.

And that was Izar's safety net.

He would be returning to Hogwarts in a few days. And by that time, he would have more than several months _away _from the Dark Lord.

"Don't be so smug," a voice leered in the shadows.

Izar stiffened, turning his heel slowly toward the Unspeakable behind him. The man's short hair was coated with a film of grease, drawing attention to his sunken and pale face. His expression was that of indifference, almost boredom. Izar dimly remembered that this was Augustus Rookwood. Rookwood worked in the Time and Space Chambers.

"Excuse me?" Izar replied coldly, his own expression mirroring the jaded Rookwood.

The man grinned, revealing his rotting teeth. Rookwood made a quick jerk with his arm and Izar tensed, ready to defend himself if the man pulled out a wand. He needed not to have worried, for his eyes zeroed in on the sleeve Rookwood pulled up. On the man's thin and pale forearm sat a dark tattoo. It was dim in the Department of Mysteries, but Izar could make out the skull and slithering serpent coming from out of its mouth.

"The Dark Mark," Rookwood whispered hoarsely. His eyes squinted at Izar, almost if he tried to see through him. "You aren't the only one who the Dark Lord seeks after. Many of us have been favored with luxurious lunches and bathed with his attention." Rookwood pulled his sleeve back down, covering the Dark Mark Izar had been staring at in interest. "As soon as this Mark is on your skin, be ready to be cast away. He will continue on with his next prey."

Izar's jaw clenched and his shoulders stiffened at the cryptic warning. He remembered Riddle whispering in his ear today that Izar would not become just a mere number to him once he took the Mark. Yet, Rookwood was standing before Izar, proving the Dark Lord wrong.

Either way, it didn't matter to Izar. He enjoyed the shadows. He excelled best when the attention was away from him. It wouldn't have mattered to him if he was cast away from the Dark Lord after he took the Mark. In fact, it didn't sound all that bad…

"You seem to be rather sour," Izar drawled. "Almost as if you don't look highly upon the Dark Lord, isn't that odd?"

Rookwood gave a small laugh. "I will lay my life down for our Lord, boy, don't get me wrong. I am just giving you a friendly warning not to get too drunk off his power and attention. It can destroy a man." Rookwood paused, his eyes narrowing into slits as he surveyed Izar. "You look painfully familiar, the more I look at you. What was your surname? Sure you a Muggle-born?"

Izar tensed, casting the man a cold look. He didn't want to _speak _about his parents, or lack of. He had his own suspicions about his parents, and those suspicions did not settle well with Izar. Not after he tried to track them down in his third year. Not after that potion…. Not…..

He grimaced, pulling those memories away. He _was _a Muggle-born.

"Rookwood, don't you have to get back to your Chamber?" A new voice interrupted their discussion, a female voice.

Izar turned to Lily Potter, eyeing her as she stood her ground. Her petite frame was exaggerated with her heavy black robe. Izar noted her deep auburn hair had the same layer of grease that Rookwood possessed. Neither of the two seemed to take much pride of their appearance.

"Speaking of _muggle-borns_," Rookwood murmured quietly, his eyes raking over Lily with revulsion. Augustus then gave Izar one last searching look before turning and entering the Space Chamber.

Clear emerald eyes turned to Izar. The Ravenclaw noted the deep and dark circles under Lily Potter's eyes. He was sure that the woman's eyes once held vibrancy and clarity. Now, though, they were haunted orbs. Something must have happened in her past or even present day for her to lose such hold of herself. Was James Potter not as great as a man as the books and _Prophet _claimed?

"I don't need your help," Izar spoke softly, not necessarily sharply, but deep enough to get his point across.

Her shoulders hunched miserably, yet her eyes remained strong on Izar. "I came to ask for your assistance today. My partner, in the Death Chamber, has been ill this past week. I need someone to assist me in my work. Would you… would you mind helping? I know you're interested in the Death Chamber. Not many are willing to be so close to the Veil."

Immediately, Izar's mood shifted. When it came to experimenting and learning, he could never refuse. "I have been preoccupied with my own experiments," he replied shortly. He watched as Lily smiled softly, her cracked lips stretching knowingly. He returned the smile, just briefly. "But I don't think I can pass up an opportunity to work in the Death Chamber."

He followed her inside the Death Chamber, his mind easily turning away from the ominous aspects of today, eager to learn more of the Veil.


	6. Part I Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The Death Chamber was just as enthralling today as it was a week ago. Izar drank in the atmosphere with wide and critical eyes. It didn't matter that there was someone in here with him, not when he was so enthralled and drawn to the archway below.

His steps were even and practiced as he climbed down the tiers and down into the pit. Once he got the rhythm of the downward steps, his eyes never left the fluttering Veil.

And then _she _had to interrupt.

"You're going back to Hogwarts next week, isn't that right? Fifth year, correct?"

He wanted to reply scathingly that if she knew it all, why was she even asking? Instead, he gave a lipless hum, his eyes taking in the back of her head. "Sixth year, actually, but yes, I return on Monday."

Before they hit the last stair, she turned bemused eyes on him. It was dim, but even Izar could see her indecision. "You're going in your sixth year? But I thought you just turned fifteen." She knew when his birthday was. Today. Yet she tried to hide the fact that she knew the exact date. Why hide the obvious that she snooped at his personal information?

He cast her a cold look, pushing past her and walking toward the raised stone dais. Up close, the archway looked even more magnificent. The stone was crumbling, appearing as it surpassed the age of time. "I skipped a year," Izar replied shortly without looking at the red-head. "Now. What did you need help with? For that matter," Izar paused, turning to glance at her slowly advancing form. "Do the Unspeakables in this chamber find any discoveries? To me, I would think you don't get much leeway in discovering the Veil."

"That is true," she started. "Many of us don't work in the Death Chamber all the time. There is no need to. The Veil will decide who gets to uncover its secrets. So far, only general knowledge has been found out about the Veil…" she trailed off uncertainly as she watched Izar.

Izar, his attention half directed on her, and the other on the Veil, found himself almost spellbound. Raspy and dim whispers caressed his ears, tickling his senses and arousing his attention. His tongue ventured out to lick his suddenly cold lips as he took another step closer to the fluttering Veil. "Izar…" Lily croaked, her tone sounding almost desperate, yet there was a hint of acknowledgment in her tone, almost as if she had expected and feared Izar's reaction. "Please, step back."

Even if he heard her warning, her plead, Izar could do nothing but watch, memorized, as the Veil quivered in almost an eager matter. The Veil almost appeared as if fingers were reaching out to caress and rake down the torn and worn Veil from the other side.

In a hazy state, Izar brought up his fingers toward the Veil. Even _he _knew that once any physical contact was made with the Veil, you would be drawn into the other side. There was no coming back. The knowledge didn't stop him. His fingers shakily brushed the tattered Veil, earning a frantic scream from Lily. For the seconds Izar touched the Veil, he marveled at how silky it was. It felt like pure silk, almost water-like between his fingers. And it was cold. So cold.

He was torn harshly away from the Veil by thin arms.

"What were you thinking?" Distressed green eyes thrust themselves in Izar's face and he blinked stupidly back at her. That was the most life he had seen in her eyes since he'd met her. "You _know _the consequences of coming too close to the Veil." She took a few deep breaths in his face before she hesitantly let go of his shoulders. "Many men and women have gone insane standing in front of the Veil. They claim they can hear their deceased loved ones on the other side, beckoning them to cross the barrier between the living and the dead. And most of the time, the victim crosses, never to be seen again."

"I know that," Izar whispered, trying to gain back his sense of logic after the shock he had gone through. "But the question is," he started; narrowing his eyes on her like a predatory would eye his prey. "How could I hear the whispers if I had never seen death? If I hadn't known one who passed away? Yet, somehow, I was still drawn to the other side. How is that?"

"I don't know," her tone dropped a few levels as crimson strands of hair covered her face. He could easily detect her lie.

"_Liar," _Izar hissed, clenching his fists. "You brought me here for a reason, didn't you? It wasn't to help you with your work." He paused, his mind quickly coming up with the first logical answer to his question. "Was I some sort of test subject for you? I admit it was a rather brilliant plan luring me in here for your own amusement, for your own study." He accused her with a twisted smirk on his face.

"Get out," the red-headed's demeanor suddenly turned cold. Her green eyes lightened in anger as she raised a skeletal hand and pointed at the exit. "Get out, and never, _never_ come back here."

He stepped closer to her, staring her down. She was only a few hairs shorter than him, but he felt tall compared to her pathetic form. "It will be my pleasure," he replied coldly, turning his shoulder on her and gracefully climbing up the stairs.

It was a long walk up to the exit, and it calmed him down somewhat. There was a very good possibility that he had been a lab rat for Lily Potter. She could have wanted to see some sort of effects on humans after she spelled around the Veil before he got there. But he also reasoned that there was a possibility that it hadn't been an experiment at all. Her heated and affronted reaction after he accused her of using him had pointed to her innocence.

But…

Izar looked down at his hands.

It didn't explain why his fingers were black and still tingling.

**Death of Today**

Charcoal-green eyes almost crossed themselves as he examined his fingers up close. He was sitting on his old and thin mattress, distressed. The wire frame of his bed bent even with his light weight, reminding Izar of the fact he was at the orphanage. His toes barely brushed the floor with the position he was sitting in. A rhythmic scoffing was heard around the small room as his leg rocked back and forth, his torn sneaker catching the floor as his leg came forward.

His attention was solemnly on his blackened fingers. They weren't as black as they had been this afternoon. No, only light shading was left, looking like bruises more than anything else. Except, they didn't hurt and they were no longer cold and numb.

The door opened to his bedroom and Izar sighed in irritation, not looking up. The boy he shared this room with, Brantley, should know better. "I told you to leave me _alone,_" he growled snidely, throwing his hands down to glare at the younger boy.

After his eyes adjusted to the dark, they widened when he realized that it wasn't Brantley, but a dark figure. For a moment, he held his breath, confusion clouding his mind as he tried to grasp who the hooded figure was. If it wasn't for the familiar magic he sensed around the man, Izar would have thought it was a stranger. "Sir," Izar murmured, sitting up straight from his bed, ignoring it as it groaned loudly. Tom Riddle must have snuck inside the orphanage and into Izar's room. "I didn't know you were coming."

It was true. After lunch with Riddle today, Izar realized he hadn't received a portkey for the initiation tonight. He didn't know _what _to expect, but he hadn't expected the Dark Lord to accompany him to the meeting tonight.

The Dark Lord carried himself differently tonight. It was similar to the day, almost a week ago, when Tom Riddle, or more specifically, Lord Voldemort had been waiting for him at the orphanage. The man's posture oozed of pure power and threat. He almost brought the shadows with him as he stepped further into the room. Tonight, at the present, the seductive and charming politician, Tom Riddle, was submissive to the menacing Dark Lord.

"I was going to have one of my men escort you to my side tonight, however, my plans have changed. I came here to assist you to the initiation and to present you with your gift. I'm afraid I need to leave Britain tonight after the meeting. I won't have time thereafter." Even the man's voice seemed to change with his persona. He had a bit of a hissing quality to his words laced with seduction.

Izar hesitated. Should he stand in the Dark Lord's presence? Or should he remain sitting on the bed? Granted, if he was branded already, he would even consider going on his knees. But he was unmarked right now and he chose to stand from his pitiable mattress.

Yes. It was his birthday. Why did he keep forgetting?

"You didn't need to get me anything, the lunch was more than—,"

He trailed off as he watched the Dark Lord enlarge something from his pocket. It was a large tome. The book was wrapped in cloth and spidery fingers unwrapped the material to reveal a dark leather bound book with dusted golden pages.

"Is that…" Izar trailed off, speechless as he reached for the tome.

Before his fingers could come in contact with that old and delicious leather, his wrist was snatched rather harshly. Izar faltered, his eyes ripping from the book and up at the man's cloaked face. No expression could be seen from Voldemort underneath the hood. Had Izar stepped over the bounds in reaching toward the book?

"What happened to your fingers?" the Dark Lord questioned, turning Izar's wrist around to see the fingers better. Izar breathed a breath of relief, tearing his eyes away from Voldemort and back on the book, the incredibly rare and most _generous _gift.

"I bruised them," he lied smoothly, distractedly. "During an experiment…" Izar licked his lips. "Is this what I think it is?" He changed the subject successfully as his wrist was released.

The Dark Lord chuckled beneath his hood, handing it to Izar. "If you are thinking of the _Eruditio_, then yes, you are correct. I'm sure every Ravenclaw has heard of the _Eruditio._"

Izar took the heavy tome from the tall man, staring at it in incredulity. It took him a long while to snap out of his haze. "This is incredibly rare, sir, I… are you certain you want to give it to me?" The younger wizard flipped open the book, revealing yellowed and blank pages. The _Eruditio _was a book in which showed the viewer information on any subject they wished to know. All the reader had to do was tap their wand on the cover and state what subject they wished to learn about. And inside, the pages would be filled with a wide-based knowledge on the subject.

It was having an entire library at your disposal.

There were only several copies of the _Eruditio _and each copy cost more money than Izar would ever see in his lifetime.

His fingers trembled on the cover as he caressed the strong-smelling leather. "You would be the first I would want to present this gift with, Izar," cold fingers grasped his jaw, puling his gaze away from the book and into the crimson eyes Izar knew to be under the hood. "And I hope, in turn, you will give me your devoted loyalty."

And then Izar realized that this wasn't so much as a birthday gift, but a bribe. Voldemort wanted his loyalty and the man played on his weaknesses and interests. Izar's lips twitched and he gave a nod. "Of course you have my loyalty…My Lord," he murmured. "Thank you for the gift. I will treasure it forever."

"Forever," Voldemort repeated back, the word sounding pensive and gloomy on the man's tongue. "Be sure that you do." The man dropped his hand from Izar's face, earning goose bumps in the wake of his absence. "Come child, its time for the initiation."

Izar gave his tome one last longing look, disappointed that he would have to wait to use it. He placed his first and only birthday gift securely under his mattress and allowed the Dark Lord to take his arm as they disapparated.

**Death of Today**

The fortress was as Izar suspected it would be. Dark, old, and cold. Spider webs claimed the corners and the ceilings, barely visible in the dim lighting. They were so thick, they appeared like aged mold.

Izar felt the growing trepidation as he walked down the eerie corridor beside a silent Lord Voldemort. Truth be told, he didn't know what he was expected to do. Questions were racing in his mind. How many people did the Dark Lord have in his army? And how many were going to be there tonight? "There is no need to be uneasy, Izar," the Dark Lord murmured silkily. "No harm will come to pass."

Izar glanced sideways at the man, who, in turn, kept his gaze forward. "I just don't know what my mannerisms should—," he faltered uncharacteristically as he caught sight of two people at the end of the corridor. One of them, even with the heavy black robe dressing his frame, Izar knew to be Lucius Malfoy. The blond hair almost glowed in the dark, the subtle light settling around the man like a halo.

But Lucius Malfoy wasn't what caught Izar's tongue and attention. It was the woman standing next to him, the woman who struck a cord of familiarity.

Black eyes locked with charcoal-green. A maniacal grin crossed the woman's face, marring the beautifully sculptured features. Her hair wasn't as beautifully laid out as her face; instead, it was a thick black mass of wayward curls. Izar knew she couldn't care a less about her appearance, judging from the smeared make-up around her eyes and lips.

She tapped a long fingernail against her smirking mouth as she eyed Izar just as obsessively.

It took Izar a few seconds to realize he had stopped walking.

"My," she whispered hoarsely, quietly, her dark eyes sparkling in inane pleasure. It appeared as if she couldn't get enough of Izar. Her eyes traced his hair to his toes, taking time to study each of his features. "I didn't think I would ever see the bastard son of my estranged cousin…"

Izar stiffened; his pulse beating at an all time high. He didn't want to hear _this. _And to make matters even worse, Izar caught sight of the younger blond wizard who entered the corridor behind Lucius. Izar knew it was Draco and he was aware that the other child had heard the woman's declaration.

Izar had never lost control of his expressions and he had never lost control of his actions. But he was _so _close to losing himself in front of the very same people he vowed he would have complete control with. "Bellatrix…" Lucius started off, uncertain, yet intrigued at the very same time. His grey eyes traced over Izar as if suddenly seeing him in a new light. The Dark Lord remained oddly silent, standing to the side.

When the woman, Bellatrix, opened her mouth again, Izar clenched his fists, his gaze becoming tunnel-like. "When I heard Lucius mention a Mudblood by the name of 'Izar' being initiated into our Lords circle, I could only speculate. But now, seeing the black curls, grey eyes, and the delicate features of Regulus, my speculations were confirmed." Her mouth twitched at Izar's apparent emotionless expression. "Izar is a rather fitting name; I'm surprised the mudblood bitch decided to keep with the Black traditions."

She not only knew his father, but also his mother. Izar gave a deep intake of breath, taking a step backward.

"That's _enough_, Bellatrix," Voldemort finally spoke up, placing his hand on Izar's shoulder. It was a weight, keeping him in place so he couldn't run like he so wanted to.

Bellatrix's dark eyes took no pity on him as she continued to study him. He stared back, unable to gather his thoughts quickly enough to retort. "I apologize, My Lord, I didn't know the boy hadn't known his parentage." Black eyes glanced shyly up at Voldemort. "I think you of all people should know, My Lord. After all, Regulus betrayed you. Do you really want his _bastard _and unclaimed son in your services?" She paused, her dark gaze sliding over to Izar once again. "History has a way of repeating itself from time to time. Even if Regulus is dead, he still lives in his son, I can see it."

"You must be rather bold to suggest the Dark Lord can't think for himself," Izar whispered darkly, his eyes gaining life back in them after the shock he had gone through.

Bellatrix's eyes widened and then narrowed into pleased slits. Before she could rebuttal, Voldemort stepped in between the adults, forcing them to take a step back from Izar and the situation. "You three will report to the chamber, where you belong. _Now_." The man's tone left no room for argument.

The two Malfoy's took one last glance at Izar before disappearing into the chamber room.

Izar looked down, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. This wasn't how he wanted to find out of his parentage. He most certainly didn't want Lucius and Draco Malfoy finding out alongside him. Not to mention the Dark Lord was all ears, not missing the family dynamics playing out in front of him.

"Don't you want to know your mother, my sweet cousin? The one who gave you to a _Muggle _orphanage after Regulus' death?" Bellatrix took an advancing step around the Dark Lord, leaning in dangerously close to Izar. He stiffened, not noticing her approach. It came to a shock to feel her lips caressing his outer ear. "Lily Potter." She whispered in inclusive delight. "I knew it all, because I witnessed their pathetic affair…" her tongue came out to stroke Izar's ear.

His eyes widened and the blood drained from his face.

"_Crucio," _the curse from Voldemort was chanted with practice and a twisted vehemence. Through half-lidded eyes, Izar watched as his distant cousin fell to her knees, her face twisting in agony. The scream that passed through her lips was high pitched in tone, piercing Izar's ears.

He took another step back, feeling the world spin before him. Even if he would have enjoyed her torture any other time, he found it the crashing point. He took a few more steps backward, more than aware of the crimson eyes following his retreat.

It took him another scream from Bellatrix to turn and walk quickly away, his speed close to that of a light jog. He didn't know where he was going and he frankly didn't care. The dark shadows swallowed him up, almost caressing and reassuring him. Izar took a shuddering breath, realizing he couldn't run away from this.

His legs gave out and he fell to the cold ground a distance away from the pair. Izar desperately crawled to a small nook in the corridor, curling his body tightly against the wall as he leaned his forehead on his drawn knees. His arms, shaking, huddled his legs closer to his body as he tried to calm his emotions. He needed to remain strong at the initiation; he couldn't have Bellatrix see what she wanted to see, a broken orphan boy, a bastard to the Black family name.

He shuddered again, feeling his throat contract.

Third year had been the year when Izar had hesitantly experimented on the properties his blood carried. He had wanted to know who his Muggle parents were and he conducted a hereditary potion. It was supposed to map out one's family lineage.

It took him almost the whole year and two batched potions before he got the potion right. Izar was sure Snape noticed a decrease in his potion ingredients, but he never commented on it. But it wouldn't have mattered.

Izar remembered staring at the blank parchment after he conducted the potion. Where the parchment was supposed to show the family trees, nothing appeared but his own name. 'Izar Harrison'. He knew then, in third year, that he wasn't a Mudblood. It had come as a large blow that one of his parents had been a wizard and smart enough to put a barrier on his heritage. It was an advanced Charm, one that only an experienced wizard or witch could conduct.

After third year, after the potion, Izar had continued to think of himself as a Muggle-born. It upset him to think of his parents abandoning him intentionally. They had _known _Izar was a wizard and they had _known _they were going to give him up. Why else would they place a barrier on his heritage? The idea of being a bastard and an embarrassment to a pure-blood male after a quick night with a lesser woman presented itself to Izar. That's what he thought he was— a result of a one night stand.

Consequently, it was easier to think of himself as a descendant of two Muggles.

But tonight…tonight had been the largest blow. Izar didn't care so much about his father. From what Bellatrix said, Regulus Black was deceased, dead, possibly killed by Voldemort's hand for betraying him. Izar didn't know Regulus' outlook on his fate at the orphanage. However, the identity of his mother was what really got Izar.

He worked with her.

Izar's face crumbled and he tried his damnest to control the burning tears. Never before had he felt so _abandoned _so unwanted. A bitter laugh escaped his lips and his shoulders shook with the effort to hold in the sob that wanted so desperately to escape. How could a mother abandon her child and then pretend she didn't even _know _him when they met fifteen years later? Merlin, it stung.

Even if Izar prided himself with being cold to the outside world, he wouldn't deny the devastation and hurt he felt. It was undeniable that he was wounded by his _parents' _actions.

A hand placed itself on his back, near the nape of his neck. Izar tensed, sensing the familiar magic around him, a comforting cloud of power. "If it makes you feel any better," the Dark Lord started off softly. "I, myself, was a bastard child."

Izar's eyes widened, yet he kept his head bowed near his knees.

"No one knows of this, Izar, and I trust you to keep it between the two of us," the hand on his neck tightened to an extent before it stroked calmingly down Izar's back. "I was raised in an orphanage like yourself. My mother died after giving birth to me and my father left my mother as soon as he found out she was a witch. I was a repulsive creature to my father and he left me in the orphanage on his own free will."

The Dark Lord, the leader and spokesmen for blood supremacy was a half-blood. Izar thought is amusingly ironic, yet he understood the man's motives.

"Did you forgive him? Your father?" Izar asked in true curiosity, his voice muffled.

A dark chuckle raised the hairs on the back of Izar's neck. "No, I killed him at the age of seventeen."

Izar's lips twitched and his head lifted from his bent knees. His eyes rested on the hoodless form of Tom Riddle. The man was grinning lightly, however, his eyes were pensive, examining Izar. Crimson eyes traced over his tearless face and back to his eyes. Izar's respect and reverence for the man heightened. It showed a very large vulnerability on Riddle's behalf to confess his past history with Izar. A history that most wizards would look down upon.

Nevertheless, even if Izar's respect for the man was high, he would never depend on the Dark Lord and he would never submit to the man fully. Just because he would have the man's Mark on his skin, didn't mean he had to become a mere mindless puppet.

And the same went for his parents. They never acknowledged him. They never claimed him. Why should he? He had his moment of grieving and that was all he needed. He would continue on like the Mudblood he used to be, jaded to his parents' true identities. They didn't care and neither did he.

Izar swallowed, feeling the familiar bouts of relapse from Voldemort's magic. He was too close, too aware of the man's over-abundant power. "I may follow in your footsteps," Izar admitted, turning his attention back on their conversation. Truthfully, the idea of ignoring his mother sounded more appealing to killing her. But who knew how he would feel in a few days, after the shock settled.

The Dark Lord smirked slyly, his crimson eyes narrowing in pleasure. "That's what I like to hear, my child," the man murmured, his fingernails still touching Izar's back.

"I'm ready to take the Mark," Izar commented, his body stiffening at the lingering caress of Tom's fingers. The hand had been a comfort to him during his moment of grief, but the lingering touch was starting to turn into something far from innocent. "Thank you for your generous reassurance, My Lord, but I can assure you that I just needed time to grasp all the information. I would like to take your Mark now."

The hand, slowly but surely slid from Izar' back. "Then follow me," the Dark Lord was back to his normally expressionless face. The older wizard stood, easily towering over Izar as soon as the boy stood up gracefully from the ground.

"Bellatrix," Izar started as they swept down the hallways at a relatively slow pace. "Won't tell any of the others, will she?"

The Dark Lord flashed Izar a small smile before he drew his hood back up, covering his features. "Bellatrix's actions are difficult to understand, Izar. But even if they are bastard children, Bellatrix has a sense of honor to her family name. She will not speak to another about your lineage. She enjoyed taunting you, however cruel it was. And she will continue to do so."

Izar grimaced, looking away. As long as she didn't tell anyone outside the _family_, Izar could handle that situation. Despite the fact that the Black and Malfoy family were one of the biggest pure-blood families, Izar had spent the majority of his life being looked down upon because of his blood status.

"And you, My Lord, will you do the same?" Izar questioned. "You won't speak of this incident again, will you? Frankly, I'd rather forget about it myself." It was sort of a command, intoned with a plead. He needed to sound a bit condescending when he was dealing with a Dark Lord. He couldn't outright demand the man to silence.

"It has already slipped my mind," Voldemort suggested.

It was a lie.

Izar's gaze dropped. He knew the man wouldn't forget. His own father, Regulus, had betrayed the man. Not only that, but the Black family was notorious for being a strong political force and knowledgeable in the field of Dark magic. Both traits were rather lost on Izar.

Nonetheless, Izar didn't think of himself as a Black. He wasn't someone who was defined by his parents and his ancestors.

He was just Izar Harrison.

**Death of Today**

The others shifted.

He remained still. And stiff.

His eyes took in the three others in the room with him. Two of which were a few years older than him while the last was about thirty years of age. He wondered, briefly, if they received priceless gifts and luxurious lunches from Voldemort. Perhaps they were treated with a brief history lesson from Tom Riddle's past as Izar had.

Izar placed a hand on his stomach, feeling a bit nauseated. Regret and apprehension were swirling in his stomach, reminding him why he had refused the first time to take the Mark. He didn't want to be branded. He didn't want to be owned. The idea tore at his resolve, forcing his breathing to come out slow and shallow.

However, he knew there was no way out of this. His time to back out had been a few hours ago when he had time to run to Dumbledore and hide like a pathetic rat. But even Izar couldn't see himself running. He never ran from things. Instead, he faced them head on, stubborn and pig-headed.

He just had to remind himself that he would be going to Hogwarts on Monday. After that, he wouldn't need to attend meetings like this for a good year. Many things could change in that time span.

Not so bad…

Izar forced his hand away from his stomach. After Voldemort gathered him from the small nook in the corridor he had escorted Izar to a small and cold room. There, the Dark Lord abandoned him, leaving him at the mercy of two of his followers. Death Eaters. That was what the servants to Lord Voldemort were called. It was what Izar was to be called after the Mark branded his skin.

The Death Eaters had forced Izar to strip to his undergarments before a heavy robe was thrown at him. He, along with the three others, was forced to abandon their shoes and suffer the cold stone against their naked feet.

By now, his skin was a pale blue, raised with goose bumps. He didn't know how long he could suffer without something warm covering his feet. The robe probably would have helped ward off the cold if it wasn't so big. The material pooled off him, too airy to be comfortable.

Izar clutched his wand in his hand. He forced a cool mask across his face as soon as the door opened to their dark room. "He's ready to see you four," the Death Eater, donned with a silver skull mask, ushered them out of the room.

Through his mask, the man's eyes taunted them as they filed out the room. Izar shivered, yet his expression was a calm cynical. He was the second to last in line, perhaps the second to last to receive the Mark. The Mark… all he had to do was focus his thoughts on the Mark and learn its properties. He had to admit he was very curious about the Dark Mark adjoined to the Death Eater's arms. Had Tom invented the enchantment himself? And what, exactly, did the mark do?

He buried the information in the back of his mind as soon as he entered a larger, colder room. The room was ridiculously large with many, _many _more servants than Izar had originally thought. The servants were all on their knees in a large semi-circle with Lord Voldemort at the point. Some where so far back, Izar wondered if they could hear anything going on in the front of the room. But he realized that was intentional when he noticed their masks.

It was a bit like ranking Izar supposed.

The Death Eaters who were at the back wore charcoal masks. They were the largest majority, perhaps the newest members. The second group wore silver masks, their numbers a lot less than the nickel skulled masks.

And finally, the smallest, barely twenty Death Eaters, wore gold masks. They were kneeling in the inner-most part of the semi-circle, closer to the Dark Lord. The nearer Izar got to them, the more he felt their magic. However, Izar wouldn't assume Voldemort's Inner-Circle was considered the 'most powerful'. Some of the gold masked Death Eaters didn't have very strong magic and some of the Death Eaters who wore nickel masks were more powerful.

It had to be based on trust and years serving the Dark Lord.

Izar kept his eyes ahead of him, not trusting his eyes to study each of the Death Eaters. He had to admit that Blacks had similar physical appearances. He wouldn't be surprised if he was recognized by any of the other Inner-Circle wizards.

He snapped out of his musings as soon as his group stopped in front of the Dark Lord inside the semi-circle. Izar was forced to go on his knees as the older wizard in their group went down first. He bowed his head, feeling eyes boring into his back from the Death Eaters behind him.

"I thank you all for coming," the Dark Lord started softly. Izar resisted a snort in amusement. There was no _choice _but to come. "You have chosen to join a commendable cause that will put a stop against the discrimination against Dark magic. With time we will comfortably cast Dark magic and teach Dark spells to our children at school. There will be no shame to the Dark, only pride." The man paused skillfully, drawing everyone's bated breath. "Not only will we reclaim our position as the finer magic, but we will also cleanse the world of Muggle taint. Muggles have slowly, but steadily plagued our world. Wizards are the superior beings and rightfully so. Wizarding children should not grow up in the Muggle world, especially Muggle orphanages."

Izar looked up from his position on the ground, eyeing the Dark Lord. The man didn't meet his eyes, yet he was aware of Izar's gaze.

"There should be no Muggle influence in our world, no taint."

Here, there were pleased murmurings from the other Death Eaters. They were satisfied at hearing the Dark Lord's speech. Izar was sure they probably heard this more than once but the thrill at hearing those promises got them more hooked- more addicted and captivated by the Dark Lord. It was a never ending cycle. The Dark Lord would preach, sending his aura out to caress his followers, and in turn, the Death Eaters grew more enamored with the man. They craved more. They _needed _more.

"We will fight for our rightful spot in the wizarding world. Dark magic, for over centuries, has been looked down and spit upon. The wizarding world won't know what hit them," Voldemort sat down on his chair that resembled something more of a throne. "Tonight, I have asked four wizards to join our cause. I believe they can offer us the advantage we need. And in turn, I will offer them a world without discrimination, a chance at joining the winning side."

Voldemort cocked his head to the side, a mocking smile spreading across his lips.

"Andrew Rowley."

The older man in the group crawled forward like a pathetic animal and came to a stop right before Voldemort's sitting form. "My Lord," he murmured softly. "I pledge to you my loyalty and my riches. I will bring pride to your name."

Izar watched closely as the man, Rowley, bent down to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes. Izar bit back a disgusted snarl, unable to see himself doing something as degrading as kissing the man's robes.

Through hooded eyes, Izar watched as Voldemort leaned forward, pressing his wand to Rowley's left forearm. _"Morsmordre," _Voldemort hissed silkily. Charcoal-green eyes observed as the Mark was all but tattooed into the man's arm. Rowley's shoulders shuddered and a piercing scream erupted from his mouth.

Izar leaned back on his knees, his curiosity getting the better of him. Just _what _was that spell? It must have been more than skin deep for the man to scream so loud. Did it affect the nervous system? The skin tissue was surely damaged and that could issue a piercing scream. But Izar wondered if it went further. After all, couldn't Death Eaters carve off the Dark Mark if they no longer wanted to be a servant to the Dark Lord? Somehow, Izar figured Voldemort wouldn't allow it to be that easy to get rid of the Dark Mark.

It had to affect the body as a whole.

"Severus," Riddle hissed, motioning for a gold masked Death Eater to approach.

Izar stiffened, becoming taller in his kneeling form. His eyes drank in the man who quickly approached Rowley and slathered a salve on the freshly branded arm. Severus? Severus _Snape_? Izar's hands splayed the cold ground as he leaned closer to his potions master. He didn't know what he was more interested in. Why Severus was a Death Eater or what the salve was made out of. Izar would have to speak to the Slytherin Head of House this year when he got back to school.

He was of decent standings with Professor Snape. It wouldn't be awkward to ask such a question about the properties in the salve he used. Perhaps the man could give Izar an insight of the Mark itself.

Sitting back, he watched the last two boys go forward to get branded. All of them screamed, perhaps louder than the first man. Despite the pain, Izar was oddly looking forward to getting the Mark and feeling the after affects of the branding. His eagerness of obtaining the Mark was purely education. He wanted to _solve _the mystery of the Mark. And he would try his best not to scream. He couldn't.

"Izar Harrison."

It was his turn to approach. Unlike the others, Izar stood up and walked to Voldemort before going back down on his knees. Severus turned his neck sharply at Voldemort's call, his surprised eyes locking on charcoal-green before Izar had to look away.

"My Lord," Izar started off like the others had done. "I pledge to you my undying loyalty. I will bring honor to your name." He couldn't pledge Voldemort his 'riches' simply because Izar didn't have any. Instead, he dipped his head, gathering the hem of Voldemort's robes like the others had done. His fingers bunched the material, surely wrinkling it. He could feel acid build up in his mouth at the thought of having to do this in front of hundreds.

But a hand stopped him.

"Bless me instead, child," Voldemort hissed in pleasure. Izar frowned, not comprehending the order. Around him, the Death Eaters gave surprised whispers. "My hand, Izar."

Izar wondered what was more mortifying, kissing the man's robes or his hand. Nonetheless, he shakily grabbed the long and pale hand in his own. Both of their hands were cold and shocks claimed Izar's arms at their contact. It wasn't alien. It had happened when Voldemort had come to the orphanage a week ago. It happened every time their bare skin touched.

He leaned over and kissed the back of Riddle's palm before turning it over and kissing the pulse point. As he pulled back, Riddle's fingernail scratched the length of his jaw. It drew blood, that much was for certain. Through stunned eyes, Izar watched as Voldemort tasted the blood on his finger, his crimson eyes incredibly bright and taunting as he eyed Izar.

Hurriedly averting his gaze, Izar lifted his sleeve, bearing his forearm. He shivered when the Dark Lord's wand pressed into his arm. _"Morsmordre." _

It was painful. Yes. Izar clenched his jaw shut and his eyes slid closed as he felt the affects of the magic wash through him. The shocks he got from physical contact with Voldemort were light and innocent compared to the shocks entering his system now. Lightning-like flashes danced beneath his eyelids as the curse made its way through his body. The shocks heated his blood and eventually made their way to his head.

His assumptions were correct then. This was far more than just a simple tattoo. This affected the nervous system.

Before long, it was over. Izar opened his eyes, panting. Even if the shocks were finished, the Mark on his skin still burned severely.

He glanced up at Voldemort, noting the man's pensive gaze. "You did not scream," the Dark Lord held up a hand toward Severus, halting the man's advance with the salve. "Perhaps you don't even need the salve."

Izar wanted to protest, but he remained tight-lipped. He had too much pride to beg for the ointment.

"But My Lord," Severus, surprisingly, was the one to protest.

Voldemort tsked. "If the boy wants the salve, he will need to ask me. It will no doubt bend his pride." Izar bit his lip, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground before him. Everything was a light blur. Somehow, the cold in the room grew warm, heating his cheeks and even his feet.

He was sure it was a fever.

And it may have been from the Mark.

But he wouldn't ask for the salve. If he could make it without screaming, he could make due without using the salve.

Later, he was presented with his mask. He was too disorientated to realize he was the only new recruit to obtain a silver mask.


	7. Part I Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The glass on the window was stained with layers of fog due to Izar's breathing. His forehead rested on the cool glass and his eyes, half-lidded, stared out into the passing scenery. His right hand was clutching at his left arm, trying to numb away the throbbing pain. Even he knew it was no use to try to take away the pain. He had tried every healing spell he knew of but the pain only numbed for a few minutes before coming back twice as strong.

He felt miserable. Not himself. And completely ill.

His right hand traced over a book that contained information on the Protean Charm. The Protean Charm was designed to link several objects through one common link. Izar had a hunched that this was based off Voldemort's Dark Mark. But no matter how much Izar wanted to learn about the Mark, his mind could only concentrate on the pain his arm was giving off.

The large leather tome he got from Voldemort, the _Eruditio, _was stored at the bottom of his trunk, still wrapped in his protective cloth. He couldn't bring himself to use the book just yet. Not when he was less than pleased with the Dark Lord. Despite his childish stubbornness of not using the book, he did feel the _itch _that always lured his mind back to the book. Was there more information on the Protean Charm in the _Eruditio_? Did it have any information on the Dark Mark itself?

He doubted it.

A loud screech issued from the compartment door as it opened, issuing a timid first year. "Can I—," the boy started, his voice cracking with nervousness.

Izar's neck cracked noisily as he quickly leveled the little boy with a glare. "No, you may not sit here. Find somewhere else." He hissed without pity, watching through narrowed eyes as the eleven year old quickly shut the door and ran from his compartment.

Instead of getting the peace and quiet he wanted, he was so very _pleased _to see a spoiled blond boy appearing at his compartment door, peering inside. The smirk the boy wore told Izar that he would not be getting the privacy he so desired. Izar just wanted to sit alone. He didn't want others, especially Malfoy, to see his pain.

"What did the little first year do to you?" Malfoy grinned, welcoming himself in the empty compartment without invitation.

Izar leaned his head against the bench, eyeing the blond through narrowed eyes. "The same thing you're doing, Malfoy, invading my privacy."

Malfoy didn't appear affected by his snide tone; instead, the spoiled bastard sat on the bench opposite of Izar. The Malfoy heir looked entirely too comfortable being here, especially after three long years of always butting heads. Nevertheless, Izar knew exactly _why _Draco was comfortable here. And he didn't like it. He was afraid this would happen.

He sighed again, throwing the boy a look. "We aren't friends. And we are _not _family, Malfoy. Whatever you heard from the insane bitch will remain between _us_, you understand me?" Izar leaned forward, wincing when he put his weight on his left arm.

The last thing he wanted to think about was his parentage. He had put the situation in the back of his mind after his branding and never thought of it again until he had seen Lily at the Department of Mysteries last Friday.

She had approached him with an apologetic expression dressing her face, no doubt wanting to apologize for what happened the day before in the Death Chamber. But before she could approach him, Izar had turned his heel, leaving her in the hallway by her lonesome. Whatever she wanted, he hadn't cared. He wouldn't put himself through that. Seeing her had brought back the pain he had felt at the initiation. He wanted so badly to ask her the broad question of _why_, but he couldn't go through with it. It was better to leave the whole situation dead.

Like it had been for fifteen years.

When Sunday night rolled into this morning, Izar had felt relieved he was going to Hogwarts. He wouldn't need to see or face Lily again until next summer. In fact, he wouldn't even need to think about his parents when his concentration would be sorely focused on his school work and trying to discover all the properties of the Dark Mark.

But Malfoy _had _to stick his nose up Izar's arse just because he found out they were 'related', however distant it was. Izar wouldn't have it. He wanted a quiet year before he had to face it all again next summer.

Malfoy's silver eyes dropped to Izar's arm, his expression turning thoughtful. "I heard you were presented with a silver mask. That doesn't happen to new recruits." The boy's voice was pinched, faintly envious, yet curious. The Malfoy heir completely ignored Izar's earlier comment. "The Dark Lord must trust you. And my father seems to approve of our Lord's decision. But what I don't understand is why you didn't receive the salve. I couldn't hear from my position in the back."

The boy, barely taking a breath, caught sight of his hand. Eyes widening, he exclaimed, "Your hand looks _enormous_," Draco grimaced, studying how Izar's left hand seemed three sizes bigger than his right hand.

Izar growled at Draco, earning a flinch from the blond. "Did you hear anything I _said_? I have no interest in speaking to you and I especially don't enjoy listening to your extraordinary ability of speaking without breathing."

Draco sniffed. "Despite the fact you're attitude mirrors Severus' remarkably well, I'm used to it. You can't affect me. _He_ doesn't affect me."

Pity. He had hoped a few jabs would make the boy go back to his old self. Having a _friendly _Draco was harder to handle than a snide one. "Obviously if he feels the same way about you as I do, I don't blame him for treating you so unpleasantly."

"No," Draco shook his head, raising his fingernails to examine them eloquently. "You aren't really unpleasant, you are more cynical, sarcastic, and… anti-social. Almost amusing. My mother confided with me that Regulus was a lot like Severus. You three would get along—," the blond broke off at Izar's expression. Suddenly, the calm and arrogant Malfoy vanished. In its place was a slightly hesitant and pensive boy. "Listen, _Harrison_, I didn't come here to apologize to you."

Izar raised his eyebrows, his pulse beating quickly in fury. He didn't want to hear his father's name spoken out loud. He didn't want to be having this discussion.

"However, I realize my past mistakes for treating you unfairly are unjust. I _don't _apologize but I would like to start over with you."

Izar sneered, sitting back against the bench once again. "Are you, per say, turning a new leaf because the Dark Lord and your father have taken an obvious interest in me, and you wanted to save your own arse? Or are you doing this out of your own change of heart?"

The blond made a face. "The first, obviously."

"Obviously," Izar repeated dryly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He really didn't expect Draco to be doing it out of a change of heart. Why would he? The blond was a spoiled brat who preferred to do things the easy way. He was a die-hard Slytherin who only cared about saving his own hide. It didn't matter that he would be putting Izar through a mental torture every time he spoke. As long as he was on his father and Lord's good side, it was all worth it for the boy.

Draco smirked. "I'd like to start over. I'll even agree not to mention your heritage to anyone, even you."

Izar withheld a groan. The boy wouldn't let up. And he was getting a migraine from listening to the boy's never ending tirade. "If I agree, will you also promise to leave me alone?"

"That kind of defeats the purpose of 'starting over', doesn't it?" Blond eyebrows hitched and silver eyes danced across Izar's irritated expression. "Though, I suppose it's a start." And after what felt like forever, Draco stood up. His mouth was still twisted into an amused smirk as if he knew the pain he was putting Izar through. "I'll ask Severus to look at your arm. It really doesn't look well."

"Leaving so soon, Malfoy?" Another voice entered the compartment, causing Izar to lean his head against the cushion, irritated.

Was it too much to ask to have a bit of peace and quiet?

Daphne Greengrass gracefully entered the small compartment. All her pure-blood charm glimmered about her, making her glow smartly. Her dark green eyes brightened when they landed on Izar and a pleased smirk crossed her flawless face.

"I'm afraid Harrison wants to be alone today, Greengrass," Draco commented snidely. His silver eyes studied Daphne's growing smile and the way her attention was absorbed on Izar. "I didn't know you were acquainted with Harrison." He sounded jealous, wary. And it was purely because Draco thought he had Izar to himself.

Izar knew the two didn't get along very well. They tolerated each other, yes, but they never socialized with one another. Malfoy thought Daphne was too outspoken for a pure-blood witch and Daphne shared Izar's opinion on Draco. He was simply a pampered boy who had yet to really grow up.

Her short blonde hair fell into her face as she turned to Draco, sizing him up. Izar just picked his book up from his lap, already bored with the two blonds. "Some of us actually have common sense to see past the façade Izar puts forth."

"If you don't mind," Izar drawled loudly, catching the two Slytherins' attention. "I'd like to read up on a few things. Your added noise certainly isn't helping me concentrate."

Daphne turned away from Malfoy, her attention once again on her prize. "I actually came to sit with you today, Izar. I haven't seen you all summer except the Ministry ball." Noting Izar's goaded expression, she continued smoothly. "I even brought something to read."

Izar raised his eyebrows, evidently amused. "Clearly educational, I suppose?"

The girl never read but she passed her classes fairly well from pure talent. Daphne preferred glamour and gossip over studying, yet she had a bit of a leveled side when she was with Izar. She seemed to find it her mission to try to lure Izar away from the anti-social circles and into her obtrusive circle of high status wizards and witches. She certainly wasn't an airhead, no, if she was, Izar wouldn't be able to associate with her. Instead, Daphne was a powerful witch who enjoyed learning about social rankings. She was all pure-blood, bred beautifully and smartly for her future husband.

He remembered how they met in second year. She had been in third year, stressing over a parchment that looked a little worse for wear. It was her potions essay she had struggled with the past week. Her eyes had been bloodshot from tension and infuriation as she looked up and noticed his watchful form. She had snapped at him, of course, telling him to look somewhere else or she'd hex him.

Something in her frustration softened Izar a bit. He ignored her threats and offered his help. She didn't agree at first, to prideful to accept help, especially from a second year. But she eventually caved in, allowing him to help her. After which, she received full marks for her written essay.

Since then, she tried her best never to take advantage of Izar's abundant knowledge. Daphne was a very prideful and independent witch who wanted to do things herself. Unfortunately, instead of leaving Izar alone after he had ignored her continuing presence, she had persisted, resulting in a rather unusual relationship between the two.

Eventually, he had come to tolerate her presence. _Slightly. _

"You know me so well," she grinned as her perfectly manicured nails opened the new edition of _Witch Weekly. _Izar's eyes widened in dismay as he hurriedly looked away from the piece of rubbish and back at his textbook.

Malfoy cleared his throat, still standing near the compartment door. Instead of looking awkward, he pulled off a cool demeanor. "I think I'll stay here then," the boy sniffed haughtily, sitting down across from them. "Do you have anything to read then, Harrison? Knowing you, you probably have a book up your arse," Draco intoned lightly. Daphne gave a dismayed sigh.

Charcoal-green eyes looked up from his book. He hadn't gotten anywhere in the text, being interrupted too many times to count.

Over the top of his book, he studied Draco. The boy had grown over the summer, looking more man than child. He resembled Lucius significantly with the lengthening hair and the expression of cool arrogance dressing his face. Of course, Izar had never met Narcissa Malfoy, the cousin to his father Regulus. But Izar did, however, see a softness around Draco's mouth that Lucius did not harbor. The boy's lips were plumper than thin, showing Black traits.

Not only was Draco changing appearance, but his demeanor also cooled. While he was still arrogant, he had dulled somewhat, becoming more observant than self-centered.

"I think your reading preferences lies with Daphne's tastes," Izar grinned behind his book, his face all serious for Draco to see. The Malfoy heir glanced at the issue of _Witch Weekly _and then turned narrowed eyes back to him. "Perhaps you can ask her for something to read. I'm sure she has another issue hiding somewhere."

Daphne muffled her laugh behind her fingers, the Greengrass Family ring glittering from the suns rays outside. He became somber as he looked at the ring, knowing Draco also had one on his finger. He turned away when Daphne caught his eyes.

"Very amusing, Harrison," Draco's lips twisted in grimace.

The two boys stared one another down, the secret between them on the forefront of their minds. Izar could just _see _Malfoy replaying the memory of Bellatrix Lestrange in the corridor to the Dark Lord's manor.

Daphne cut in smoothly as the tension started to grow. "I'm eager to see the Durmstrang students," she batted her lashes. "I was only in first year when the Tournament was held in France. The first years had to stay back. But from what I've heard, they are a handsome lot of men."

It took Izar a long while to understand what she was speaking of. "The Triwizard Tournament, I had forgotten about that," he commented lightly before turning back to his book to stare unseeingly at it. The Tournament happened every five years. They had resumed the Tournament almost fifty years ago. In fact, Izar was sure this year would be the fiftieth anniversary for the Tournament starting up again.

"Don't forget about Beauxbatons," Draco flashed Daphne a smug look. "Now _that _is a handsome lot of women."

"Hardly," she murmured; her eyes on Izar. "Do you think they're anything special, Izar?"

He stared at the text on the page, unable to believe he was having this discussion. He would rather be sitting in the Death Chamber with Lily Potter than discussing how handsome women and men were. "Are you going to put your name in the Goblet?" Izar questioned to the two of them, easily changing the subject. Daphne wasn't so impressed by his tactics, but she remained silent on the previous subject.

Draco seemed to puff his chest out, his chin raising a ridiculous amount. "Of course I am going to enter." There was something about his tone that made it almost certain he _would be_ chosen as a Champion. Izar stared at the boy; his eyes narrowing as he observed the way the boy held himself. There was no way in hell Izar could see Draco being picked for Hogwarts Champion, but the boy's expression spoke of utmost confidence.

Just what exactly was going on with this? Izar's gaze traced the proud flush of pink on Draco's cheeks.

"You don't seem too excited," Daphne touched Izar's shoulder. "Are you going to put your name in the Goblet? I think you would make a brilliant Champion."

Charcoal-green eyes darkened in irritation. "I just turned fifteen, Daphne, you know that. Of course I'm not going to enter. You need to be at least sixteen." She pouted. "Besides, even if I was old enough I would never go near the Tournament." The last thing he wanted was attention. Fame. Interest. Glory. He wasn't _like _that, thrusting himself into the heat of publicity, expecting fame and glory. Even if it was for a large sum of money, he wouldn't put himself through that just to get his hands on gold.

To Izar, it wasn't a Tournament to test your magical ability. Instead, it was a popularity contest to see who would be the next wizard or witch recorded in history.

But the more he thought about the positives of the Tournament, the more his hatred for it diminished. He realized he would have _so much _extra time to research things. While the rest of the school would be celebrating the Tournament and going to the Challenges, he could be _alone_. Away from everyone.

_Hmm… all the possibilities. _He could work on the Dark Mark in more depth and also his Unspeakable project he vowed to complete this school year before returning to work in the summer.

Draco snickered, bringing Izar's attention back on him. "Izar is too absorbed in the shadows. He would never enter." The two boys shared a knowing look. "I don't care who the Champion is. As long as the Norwegian Government doesn't win again. Save for _one _year, when Beauxbatons won, Durmstrang has won all the other Tournaments. Hogwarts- the British Government- has yet to win _one_ since the Tournament reopened fifty years ago."

It was true.

The three Ministries were rather competitive when it came to the Tournament. The Norwegian Ministry, or in particular, the Norwegian people were ranked the highest with their school of Durmstrang. The France Ministry came to a close second with Beauxbatons Academy. Sadly, the British Ministry was the lowest ranking. Never once winning a Tournament. Out of the three schools, Hogwarts was ranked the lowest when it came to exam scores and competitions.

From what Izar read, the Ministers and the high ranking politicians always placed high bets on the Triwizarding Tournament. They grew rather aggressive during the Tournaments and most of the country's high ranking politicians traveled to the school in which the Tournament was being held at. Apparently Britain was hosting the Tournament this year.

Izar's fingers twitched and his book dropped to his lap as he realized something.

_Tom Riddle _was a high politician. Only second to that of the Minister. He would most definitely be at Hogwarts for a good remainder of the year.

Izar took a deep breath trying to calm himself as his left arm jerked painfully.

He had thought he would get a whole year without even _seeing _the Dark Lord again.

**Death of Today**

Izar, finally alone in a sense, walked up to the castle. His Ravenclaw robes dressed his frame, the blue and bronze tie tight around his collar. He had to admit he was happy to be back at Hogwarts. Anything to be out of the orphanage and away from the Department of Mysteries until his shock lessened over his parentage. He didn't know how long he could have lasted near Lily Potter if he hadn't had Hogwarts to fall back on.

The Ravenclaw prodigy all but glided toward a tall column, standing near the shadows to compose himself.

His left arm was burning fiercely. Not only the Mark itself, no, but his whole arm. The pain and the swelling were up to his shoulder, revealing the abnormal thickness and redness. It had been a chore for him to put on his robes, and eventually, he had to bend to Draco's offered help.

Izar didn't even know if he could successfully pick something up. After all, he hadn't even been able to tie his tie. He moaned softly, setting his hot face against the stone pillar. He wanted the salve the day after he was branded, but he was too uncertain to contact the Dark Lord. How could he when the man made it so easy for Izar to dislike him? One moment, Tom Riddle had empathy and was _human, _while the next, the man was a closed-off Dark wizard who had no pity for those beneath him.

Not only that, but Izar didn't want to _bend _to the Dark Lord. If he had contacted Tom and asked for the salve he would be admitting his submission.

The problem was, with his throbbing and burning arm, he couldn't concentrate. All the things he had wanted to do before school hadn't been accomplished because Izar couldn't focus. It was pathetic on his behalf.

Pain-filled eyes watched as the students crowded together, whispering and talking loudly between each other. Their strides were wide as they entered the Great Hall, anxious to see their friends again. And then Izar saw the Durmstrang students filtered through the entry way with the other school, Beauxbatons, entering behind them. He eyed the two foreign schools, wondering why they weren't announced officially anymore. Had Hogwarts grown sour to losing so many years that they didn't introduce Durmstrang and Beauxbatons properly?

It was a possibility. One that Izar didn't ponder on long.

His teeth clenched and his eyes shut briefly as his arm convulsed again. Would anyone even notice his absence if he didn't attend the Welcoming Feast?

No.

Opening his eyes, he observed as the students walked past him, not seeing him. Izar pushed his back further against the column, watching how invisible he was to the children. Some of their eyes looked at him and swiftly danced away from him as if they hadn't even noticed him.

But this is what he liked, wasn't it? To be able to do anything he wanted without notice, without scrutiny. On the train he had been tired of Daphne and Draco's presence, so why was he affected by the students' oblivious nature to him?

His eyes caught sight of a few Ministry workers entering through Hogwarts' doors. In the middle of the Britain group stood the tall and charmed politician, Tom Riddle. His cheater glasses were upon his nose and his false brown eyes sparkled along with his coworkers. Before Izar could compose and recover from seeing the Dark Lord again so soon, Riddle's eyes rose from the Ministers to lock on Izar's form in the shadows.

Izar gave a heavy sigh, quickly rotating his body to hide behind the pillar as their group passed.

He breathed shallowly.

If he was so invisible to all the students, then how did a powerful Dark Lord notice him so _easily_?

"Izar," a man called. With his heart in his throat, he looked up at Severus Snape. The man had also noticed him. "Come with me." The potions professor didn't even wait for Izar to collect himself as he swiftly led the way down to the dungeons. Izar pushed himself off the column, following the man.

"What is it, sir?" Izar questioned as they neared the man's private offices. "Won't we be missing the Welcoming Feast?" He didn't care if he missed the Welcoming Feast, in actuality, he welcomed the chance to get away from all the noise that was surely to be accompanied with the announcement of the Triwizarding Tournament.

Snape didn't answer as he held open his door for Izar to enter. Trustingly, the Ravenclaw entered the private offices, looking around at all the ingredients on the shelves. His usual curiosity involving the chance at observing was absent tonight. He stood there rather vulnerably as Snape walked around him, silent as ever.

Charcoal-green eyes caught sight of Snape's expression. The man didn't look too happy. The magic around the man was proof of his unpleasant mood.

"You should have owled me or the Dark Lord," Snape's deep baritone voice cut harshly through the silence. "Take your robe off," the man ordered. Izar's shoulders slumped at the command.

"I didn't want to…" he trailed off as his right hand tried its hardest to pull at the knot on his tie.

"You didn't want to bend to the Dark Lord, yes, I had my suspicions. However, I am not the Dark Lord and I have possession of the salve. I have been waiting for your owl the past few days, expecting your _logical _persona to take over and ask me for the salve." Severus gathered a plastic tub of salve from his desk, coming over to Izar. "It appears that, you aren't as intelligent as I thought originally."

Izar flashed the man a withering stare, successfully untying his tie. "I didn't want to be a bother." Truth be told, he wanted to find out how to cure the burning himself. But that plan went astray when he realized his fever was preventing him from studying and obtaining knowledge.

"A bother," Severus repeated dryly. He sighed impatiently and reached out to assist Izar with taking off his robe. "You, child, are a wonder."

A crimson flush spread across the back of Izar's neck as he was undressed by his potions professor. His expression remained neutral as Severus unrolled his left sleeve. A hiss escaped between Izar's teeth as the material brushed his tender skin.

"You foolish boy," Snape continued in a softer tone, his face pinched as he studied the fat and pink arm. "You have an infection. Any longer and you could have died."

"I wanted to find out myself," Izar snapped viciously, tired of Severus' scolding as if he were a little boy. "I should have been able to find out _how _to stop the burning. But I couldn't concentrate, not with the burning… not with everything…" he trailed off, his voice cracking.

Tears clouded his vision and he hastily tried to blink them away. Between his parentage and the branding, Izar was having trouble grasping hold of himself and his knowledge. He had failed constructing his invention with the Unspeakables this summer, disappointing Owen Welder and probably the other Unspeakables. He had also failed at trying to dance his way out from getting the Dark Mark from the Dark Lord. He had failed with many things this summer and frankly, he felt like a miserable disappointment.

Severus remained silent, opening the salve. The smell of aloe and rosemary hit Izar's smelling senses. Both plants were very well known for their healing properties. But obviously, there was much more to the salve's properties than those two plants.

"I'm afraid I'm losing my aptitude," Izar spoke quietly; truly afraid of losing the only power he had control of, the only thing he could be proud of. He needed his smarts, his brains, but quite frankly, this summer it felt as if he went downhill.

Severus tutted, applying a generous amount of salve on the pitch black Dark Mark. "One does not lose their intelligence, Izar. Your knowledge only grows with time, it does not diminish." The man never commented on how small Izar sounded or poked fun of the childish fear. Instead, the man sounded as if he understood where Izar was coming from. "You are just going through a difficult time. Your mind is restless, unsettled, it is understandable that it cannot rest long enough to absorb knowledge."

The Ravenclaw looked back toward Severus, watching the man's bent head as he applied the soothing salve. The man made complete sense and Izar felt somewhat silly for even suggesting he was losing his aptitude. "Do you ever regret it?" He asked slowly, gauging Severus' reaction.

Surprisingly, Snape knew exactly what Izar was asking.

Did he regret getting the Dark Mark?

The man finished applying the salve and turned his back on Izar as he set the top back on the container. "Yes," he said quietly. Izar watched interestedly as Severus walked around his desk and placed the salve in the top drawer. "Every new recruit has regretted obtaining the Dark Mark, if not at least briefly. You are not alone."

"Thank you, sir," Izar looked down at his brilliant pink arm, waiting until the salve dried a bit before pulling down his sleeve again. It still burned painfully, yet there was a _small_ relief. However, Izar did not know if the relief was coming from his arm or from the reassurance Severus gave him.

"It will take a few days until the swelling goes down and the color to return to normal. We should, most likely, apply the salve once more tomorrow to make certain the infection stays at bay." Severus leaned against the back of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, surveying Izar with his closed of expression. Nothing ever got past the Legilimens and Izar felt a brief stab of envy.

"Is it possible, sir, to discuss the Dark Mark more in depth tomorrow? I'd like to learn more about it. It's functions and properties." He didn't add the fact he wanted to experiment with the Dark Mark, just in case the man was against committing such a crime against their _Lord. _

Surprisingly, Severus gave a small smirk, his eyes knowing as he drank in Izar. "I remember experimenting on the Dark Mark when I first obtained it. I brewed countless of potions in attempt to stop the Mark's affects. Regrettably, I didn't get very far in my studies. If you'd like, after we discuss the Dark Mark, I can give you my notes regarding my brewed potions I created in attempt to stop the Mark's intended purpose."

Izar was surprised Snape had admitted to experimenting on the Dark Lord's Mark. "I- thank you, sir, I'd like that very much."

Dark eyes swept the length of his body, his expression turning a bit haunted. "I hold nothing against experimenting, Izar. You are a very intelligent child. If anyone can understand the Dark Lord's Dark Mark, I believe it will fall in your hands."

Izar offered the man a true smile in return. However small the smile may have been, it was genuine. "Thank you."

The potions master gave a curt nod, sweeping toward the door to his private office. "We are due at the Great Hall. No doubt the Dark Lord has already noticed both our absences." Izar paled at the calm statement.

The Dark Lord wasn't stupid. He would put the two and two together quite easily. Izar just wondered if the Dark Lord would hold his tongue in Hogwarts or act on his temper. Voldemort had specifically said Izar should contact _him _in order to get the salve.

Whatever happened, Izar would try his best to divert the blame onto him and off Snape. It was the least he could do for the man's act of generosity.

The two stepped into the dark corridor, Izar's fevered face clashing with the cool atmosphere of the dungeons. He glanced at Snape from the corner of his eye, wondering about the man. Snape was a very intelligent man, especially when it came to potions, and Izar could feel the calm waves of magic coming from Snape. He was also powerful. There had to be a past to the man, a reason he joined the Dark Lord… and Izar wanted to know about it all.

"Sir?" Izar questioned softly, his voice sounding rather haunted in the corridors. "Did you know Regulus Black?" He vowed he would never bring the subject up himself, but he knew there was something linking Severus Snape with his parentage. The man had _known _Izar had brewed the heredity potion in his third year. Why did the man never confront Izar about it, especially when it was forbidden to take ingredients from his personal storage?

Izar remembered hearing about a few Gryffindor's stealing from Snape's ingredients. The man assigned them detention for three months and took so many points that their House didn't have any hope to win the House Cup.

But Snape had stepped aside and remained silent when Izar took ingredients for not only _one _heredity potion but _two_. It was a difficult concept to grasp.

Either Snape had such a soft spot for Izar that he turned a blind eye on his loss of ingredients or he had known and understood Izar's curiosity involving his parentage.

He was guessing it wasn't the first.

"I did," Snape's whole demeanor altered. Izar observed the way the man's shoulders grew stiff and his neck muscles strained. Charcoal-green eyes dropped to the man's fingers, watching as they flexed, a gesture usually seen on the man when he wanted to calm his temper.

"You knew he was my father, didn't you?" Izar accused coldly.

Snape halted and turned to Izar quickly, peering down his nose at the shorter wizard. The taller man appeared angry, almost insulted. "I had my suspicions and only my suspicions. It wasn't until you grew older when those suspicions were confirmed. Had I known from the start, would you have wanted me to tell you?"

"No," Izar replied with such certainty that Severus' stare softened. "I was just curious if you had known, that's all." Izar gave the man a cool look before he turned and continued to the Great Hall. He wasn't mad that Snape had kept the information a secret. After all, both his parents had fought to keep it a secret.

"He is a good man." Snape's voice followed darkly at his heels.

Izar turned, his eyes narrowing. "_Is_?" Snape's chin rose and he remained stone-faced. "I was told Regulus Black was murdered for his act of betrayal to the Dark Lord. Are you trying to convince me otherwise?" He didn't allow the man to confirm or deny the claims. Instead, he continued on with his tirade. "Because I can guarantee, no matter what the answer is, I don't care. He's dead to me. And will forever remain _gone_." His hands were shaking, he found.

He took a deep breath, composing his temper. He didn't want to take his anger out on the potions professor. "Thank you for your assistance, sir, I appreciate your help. But when it comes to _him _I don't want to speak of it again."

He turned and hurried from the dungeons.

_Regulus Black is dead. _

It was what he had to keep chanting in his mind in order to stop the feeling of sharp betrayal.

* * *

_**an:** Before you ask or assume, no, the Triwizard tasks will NOT be the same as in Canon. _


	8. Part I Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Izar didn't necessarily sneak in like he had imagined he would. The hall was full to the brim with students and Ministry workers. The French, Norwegian, and Britain Ministry workers somehow squeezed at the head table, the respected Headmasters and Headmistresses of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons also at the head table.

At the moment, Headmaster Dumbledore was standing at his golden podium, speaking to the hall. Izar's cheeks grew warm as a few heads turned at the small sound of his entrance. His expression remained neutral as he quickly walked down the few steps and toward the Ravenclaw table. Terry Boot, a fifth year Ravenclaw, had saved him a seat as he had every year.

Izar sat down gracefully, hiding himself behind the masses of students. Thankfully, Dumbledore hadn't stopped speaking. He continued on about hosting the other schools and about respect and good sportsmanship.

Izar leaned backward a bit, catching sight of Snape entering from the side room. He sat down besides Minerva McGonagal, which happened to be only two chairs away from Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord watched as Severus settled himself and then his brown gaze danced across the hall to Izar. The Dark Lord's expression was just as stoic as Snape's, withholding what he was really feeling. Izar kept his eyes challengingly on the man. Even from his seat, he could feel the Dark Lord's magic. It had a bit of sharp twinges to it, proving that the man wasn't very happy.

With both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore together, it was difficult for Izar to control his shuddering. However slight the shivering was, Izar hated that he had relapses from feeling strong auras. Yes, it may have been convenient to sense auras and magic, but it was also problematic. It would take time to get used to both wizards in the same proximity. After all, it took Izar over two years to get accustomed to Hogwarts itself. The castle had magic and it affected Izar just as much as these two wizards together.

Briefly, he wondered if Dumbledore was aware of the alternative personality of Tom Riddle. Even if the old Headmaster was a bit barmy at times, Izar knew the man was as brilliant as any scholar. There must have been _some _suspicions, even if the Dark Lord Voldemort hadn't come out to the world officially as of yet.

"…please welcome Hogwarts' new Defense against the Dark Arts, Professor Sirius Black."

Izar snapped his gaze away from Riddle's charmed brown eyes and on to the introduced man. The color washed from Izar's face as he watched a man stand up, give a small wave and a grin to the clapping students.

Izar didn't clap. Instead, he sat there, staring at the stranger. Sirius Black. Izar had to jog his memory of the Black Family tree. If he wasn't mistaken, Sirius was Regulus' brother. Which made Sirius Izar's uncle.

Izar and Sirius had a few similarities; the dark waves, almost curls, and the grey eyes. Sirius was a very handsome fellow, handsome enough that Izar was sure the man got that compliment many times in his lifetime. And there was the Black casual elegance and the sharp aristocratic features. But other than that, their similarities ended. Sirius was broader, more masculine. He was almost roguish. His grey eyes were darker as well, not as vivid and clear as Izar's.

Sirius' eyes skimmed the hall and caught sight of Izar, frozen, among the clapping students. The man faltered, hesitating before he sat.

_You're an idiot. _Izar reprehended himself. He must have looked like a fool sitting there, staring in Sirius Black in misery.

Trying to pull off an air of nonchalance, Izar looked away from Sirius and casually up at the enchanted ceiling. The man surely wouldn't recognize Izar, would he? He couldn't look _that _much like the man's brother. Sirius Black probably hesitated because he had been taken aback by a student staring at him in such an imprudent way. Grabbing the goblet near his plate, Izar turned away from the head table and took a large swig, successfully hiding himself.

"Professor Black has taken a year off from Auror work to teach the students here at Hogwarts. I expect you all to be welcoming to him. He has a great abundance of knowledge in his field." Dumbledore continued. "Now, the moment you have all been waiting for, the _feast_."

As the words left his mouth, the table in front of Izar sprang with all sorts of foods. Pleased murmurs swept through the hall as the students all tucked in.

Izar found his eyes dancing toward the glittering Triwizard trophy and the wooden Goblet of Fire. He must have missed the announcement on both objects, not at all disappointed with the result. He already read about the Tournament and he knew only sixteen year olds and up could participate. The Tournament of Glory. That was all Izar thought on the Tournament. All the hype over it was for _nothing. _

"Did you have a good summer?" Terry Boot asked softly, his tone almost drowned out by the rest of the hall.

After piling a few mashed potatoes on his plate, Izar spared Boot a quick glance. Terry and he had gotten along fairly well ever since they were Sorted together. However, neither of them talked very much, both enjoying each other's silence. Terry was a smart wizard, like many of the Ravenclaws, yet he hadn't been nominated to skip a year like Izar had. The half-blood wizard peered back at Izar with intelligent blue eyes, his sandy brown hair falling in his face. Apparently Draco Malfoy wasn't the only one who had grown this summer.

Izar looked down, away from Boot. He felt as if he was at a standstill when it came to physical aging. Everyone around him was maturing and he still felt as if he were a young boy.

"Brilliant summer," Izar responded ironically. His left arm hung awkwardly at his side as he played with his potatoes with his right hand. "And yours? Did you get the summer reading completed?"

"I did, I would ask you the same, but I already know the answer to that." Terry offered him a small, tart smile before going to his dinner once again, silent. Izar paused, glancing at the boy sideways. Boot seemed a bit more lethargic today, if not bitter.

"Do you _really_ know the answer to that?" Izar prodded; interested to know why Terry's attitude had turned sour over the summer. Normally, the boy was soft-spoken and never had a bad bone in his body.

Blue eyes remained stubbornly on his plate. "I do know the answer, Izar. You skipped a year. It would only seem obvious that you've finished your summer homework in order to get a good footing on the new year. Wouldn't want to be bumped back down to your rightful level, would you?"

Ah. That was it. Terry was feeling envious that Izar had successfully skipped a year. There was never a time that someone was jealous of Izar. This was the first time anyone had expressed envy for something Izar held. "My rightful level?" Izar repeated dubiously. Their conversation was a bit muffled with the loud chatter around the Great Hall. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students were adding to the noise, heightening the volume in the Hall. "You think I belong in fifth year?"

Terry gave a sigh, his expression twisting in frustration. "I didn't say that, Izar," the boy stabbed the sausage on his plate. "Admittedly, I think you're a smart wizard. But then again, every Ravenclaw is smart. We just haven't witnessed any proof that you should be considered for skipping a grade."

_We. _

Izar looked around the table, catching a few eyes of the Ravenclaws. The Ravenclaw table was unusually quiet tonight. They usually weren't as riled up as the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, but enough to rise in volume against the Slytherins. Tonight, though, the older students in particular, where quiet, listening in.

His eyes caught those of Granger's. The Mudblood's expression held no doubt, only curiosity. He sniffed, looking back down at his plate. Let them think he wasn't capable of skipping a year. It wasn't like him to raise his hand obnoxiously in class and interrupt the professor when they made a mistake in their lectures. He wasn't one to brag and he wasn't one to boast.

"You need to prove yourself a bit more, Izar, that's all we are saying. Bring some recognition to the Ravenclaw House if you really are declared a 'true prodigy'." Boot murmured quietly, his tone turning mocking at the latter part.

"Believe what you want, Boot," Izar replied sharply, his voice heightening in volume for the others to hear. "I will not change my mannerisms just because my House wants recognition." Charcoal-green eyes tried to meet every one of the Ravenclaw students. "If they want to be recognized, they can use their own _remarkable _intelligence." Izar set down his fork calmly, sitting up. "Regrettably, if their intelligence is a reflection of tonight, it's a pity they will never be acknowledged."

With that, he stood from the Ravenclaw table, slightly ashamed to call it his House. Keeping his chin held high, he swept from the Great Hall.

Escaping the hot and loud Hall put a slight relief in Izar. But with the solitude, a stark loneliness accompanied.

He wandered up to the Ravenclaw tower, his path lightened by the dimmed torches on the walls. The farther he climbed, the more he realized that he wasn't tormented by loneliness, but by a sense of loss. Was it possible to feel lost when you knew exactly where you were?

Why, then, did he feel as if he were rooted in place as time passed around him? Why did he feel as if he was tumbling downhill and there was no solid root to hold on to? There was nothing stopping his downward climb and he was afraid to reach the bottom.

Had he already reached the bottom?

His arm throbbed painfully and he paused on the staircase, his face crumbling in pain. He allowed himself to slump against the banister, aware that no one was around to see his moment of weakness. Placing his face in his right hand, he breathed painfully, aware of the tears that wanted to spill.

Izar had once vowed to himself that he would never need anyone, no friends, no help, but at what point did he reach where he needed to _accept _the help around him?

He was now owned by another. The Mark on his arm was proof enough. He didn't so much mind the cause he was supporting, no; he didn't mind the extinction of Muggles. But he _did _mind having a constant reminder of his lack of ownership over his own actions.

And then there was his House. Never before did he have a problem with Ravenclaw. It had been his home, his shelter away from the Slytherins who looked down their noses at his impure blood. He had always felt welcomed in the Ravenclaw home. But now that he was offered a chance to succeed, his Housemates were blinded with their own envy and discrimination. Just because he wasn't well known— the poster child for Ravenclaw, he was pinned as a fake, as an embarrassment.

Not only were the Mark and his House an issue, but so was his downward spiral in his experiments, in his knowledge. Granted, the majority of his summer work at the Ministry consisted of Time Turners, but he had a good week and a half on his own experiments. It had failed considerably. _He _had failed.

Severus had confirmed that Izar had a lot on his plate, hence the reason why he couldn't concentrate.

If that was the case, Izar had to cleanse himself of these foolish worries. Knowledge was everything to him. If he didn't have his scholar ability, he felt as if he didn't have anything at all.

The first issue he needed to hurdle over was his House. Did it really matter what they thought of him?

Izar straightened up from the stairs, trying to calm his raising vision as the thought on the question. No, it didn't matter what they thought of him. Izar had faced bigger betrayals, _much _larger than a few children being envious of him.

In fact, he should take this situation with his House in stride. He had acknowledged earlier that no one had ever been jealous of him. Shouldn't he be proud that there was now something to hold over other students' heads? Decidedly, he would never boast about his increase in grade levels, but standing there, on the stairs, he realized he could finally feel confident, _proud. _

Izar grinned tightly, his eyes too dark to really reflect contentment. The issue with his House was calmly washed away from his mind, lifting a bit of the weight from Izar. Dimly, he realized he was mediating, clearing his mind like an Occlumens would do.

But there would always be that _one _issue he couldn't meditate on. And that was his parentage. Izar wanted to keep that whole _issue _dead. He had spent the most vulnerable of years alone without any guardian. Now that he was fifteen, he had gotten past the dependant stage. He was independent now and would remain so the rest of his life. A parent wouldn't make a difference in his life now. It was only an added burden, one that Izar couldn't deal with— especially if it was from Lily Potter.

He scoffed, looking down at his enlarged arm. And then there was Regulus. Severus Snape had, perhaps, let it slip that Regulus may be alive. But did the man truly let it slip? Izar thought the potions master was too smart to allow such a thing to slip past his lips. Was he trying to push Izar towards Regulus? Was there some deeper mystery revolving around Regulus? Obviously, if Regulus was alive when the Dark Lord believed him dead, it _was_ a mystery.

Students' voices were heard around the castle as they poured from the Great Hall. He winced, wondering how long time had really passed, standing there in the dark staircase.

Izar leaned over the stairs, his eyes watching as the students filed out. Even from where he stood, he could see the excitement in their bodies, their shoulders strung with exhilaration at being back at Hogwarts. And the added bonus of the Tournament put a flush on their cheeks and a gleam in their eye.

He realized then, that he needed to put the past behind him and look toward the future.

Yes he was poor, alone, and discriminated against. But frankly, all Izar could care about was his future that _had _to bring better things.

With that on the forefront of his mind, Izar threw back his shoulders and climbed down the stairs, away from the Ravenclaw common room. His steps were quick, hoping he wasn't too late. "Izar—," Boot called as he passed.

Izar ignored the Ravenclaw, quickly climbing down the last staircase.

Once his foot hit the bottom step, his eyes quickly danced across the entry way, bypassing many of the Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts students until he came across the tall figure of Tom Riddle.

With a deep breath, Izar crossed the hall. Riddle was on his way out the castle, no doubt going home with the rest of the politicians until he returned tomorrow. But Izar wanted him _now_. He needed to bend his neck to the man just this once, just this _one _time in order to get relief from the burning pain that had yet to subside. He also had his suspicions on the Mark, and if the Dark Lord's actions tonight proved his suspicions right, Izar would dive head first into researching the Mark.

"Mr. Riddle," Izar called out, his heart in his throat when he realized he might have been too late to catch the man. It would be another night of restless sleep that involved waking up in cold sweat because he rolled over on his left arm. His concentration in his classes would be horrendous tomorrow morning. And he _needed _to be fully alert this year.

However, his voice was too quiet in the expansive hall. There were just too many students in his way between the Dark Lord and himself.

Yet, somehow, Riddle paused in his retreat. The man looked over his shoulder, his eyes immediately locking on Izar despite the countless of students between the two. The Ravenclaw took a step back, flabbergasted that the man had heard him. How? Even Izar had felt his voice become drowned out by the chatter in the hall.

A tall student blocked his vision. Izar growled, hating his short height. He dodged to the side, searching for Riddle.

The man was no where to be seen.

"Fuck," he whispered, dismayed— angry. His eyes ran a clean sweep toward the exit, just to make sure Riddle wasn't standing near the doors. But the man wasn't in sight, probably already have left.

He turned; ready to go to Snape once again for a Dreamless Sleep potion. At least that would knock him out a bit tonight. His arm may not even wake him up. But as soon as he turned, he was met with the tall form of Tom Riddle. The man appeared right behind him.

"Language, Mr. Harrison," Riddle smirked, revealing his startling white teeth.

Izar took a calming breath, trying to steady his racing heart. The man had appeared so _suddenly_. Instead of voicing his shock, he schooled his expression, intent not to appear too submissive. "I was wondering, sir, if I could speak to you privately?"

Riddle's charm was gone and he gave a sharp nod. The charmed brown eyes glanced once around the hall before he placed his hand on Izar's shoulder, steering him away from the chatter and into the shadows. "I had wanted to speak to you and Severus anyway. However, my plans changed when I witnessed you leaving the Great Hall early."

It couldn't bode well.

Izar allowed the Dark Lord to lead him by the back of his neck down to the dungeons. It was the same path he took not even an hour ago. Only this time, it seemed like an endless walk. Riddle remained silent and his magic wasn't much of a comfort. It lashed around him in silent waves, vibrating Izar's insides. He knew facing the Dark Lord when he was angry was a possibility and he had prepared for it.

But he wasn't prepared for the sharp shocks along the base of his neck with the Dark Lord's bare touch. The shocks didn't hurt very much; it was more a pleasurable shock. He was reminded he had felt them before, _always _when he touched the man's skin.

Eventually, Riddle dropped his hand in order to knock on Severus' door.

As if expecting them, the door opened silently. Severus was standing stiffly behind his desk, watching them with dark eyes. Izar entered behind Tom, shutting the door to his doom. Almost immediately, Riddle took his wand out, waving it. Bright silvery magic escaped from his wand, looking similar to small snakes as they slithered up and down the walls, sealing it in privacy wards.

Without so much as a pause, Tom flicked his wand toward Severus. Izar watched as the man went down to his knees, his expression twisting in pain. How could a silent spell be so painful? It shouldn't have surprised Izar that Riddle could cast nonverbal spells. And it wouldn't surprise him if Riddle could even do wandless magic.

Izar got his own taste of the nonverbal spell as Riddle engulfed him with the spell. Like Severus, Izar went down to his knees, unable to support his body weight as the pain washed through his body. It wasn't the _Cruciatus _curse, not only would it be detected in Hogwarts, but the pain wasn't as intense as Izar had read curse pinched his nerves, making his body tremble and move uncontrollably.

Before he could really debate on the _exact_ hex, it was lifted from him. He breathed a sigh of relief, staying in a relaxing position on the ground in order to settle his nerves. In addition, it wouldn't do well to stand in the presence of the Dark Lord, especially when he was less than pleased with him.

"I specifically told the both of you Mr. Harrison would come to _me _for the salve. What gives you the right to go behind my back and give the boy the salve, Severus?" Voldemort hissed darkly, his step slow and calculating as he walked over to the potions master. From Izar's position on the floor, he watched as Riddle's black cloak swept charmingly to and fro with each stride he took.

Izar was almost positive that if Voldemort wasn't under his politician glamour, he would appear twice as frightening. Even so, the crimson eyes bled through the brown, clashing strikingly with the incredibly pale skin. Riddle's expression was masked and cold, yet his magic and verbal tone spoke words of his austere displeasure.

"The fault does not lie with him, My Lord," Izar interrupted softly before Severus could speak. Riddle turned sharply, his eyes zeroing in on Izar's, searching. "I was the one who asked Professor Snape for the salve."

From the corner of his eye, Izar felt the black eyes boring into the side of his head, assessing him. Izar remained looking away from the potions master. They were both in submissive, passive positions, both of their pride wounded. It would be best if they could avoid eye contact and not make their meek positions even more humiliating.

Riddle made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. Even from his position on the floor, Izar knew the man didn't believe a word he spoke. Instead, Riddle seemed disgusted that Izar would take the blame. "Even so, Severus should have refused your plea. He heard my order at the initiation." Riddle hissed, narrowing his eyes down on the kneeling form of Izar. "Take your robe off. _Quickly_."

Blinking past the surprise at the sudden command, Izar struggled with his robes. The hex from the Dark Lord made his body on edge and shaky. It didn't help that his left hand was ablaze with pain; reminding him of the reason he approached the Dark Lord in the first place. Luckily, he struggled past it and untied the knot to his tie before shedding his outer robe. By the time he was finished, Riddle was crouched down besides him, the cheater glasses on his nose still in place.

It was a bit surprising that the Dark Lord would lower himself. Izar would have thought the man would have at least stayed standing, showing his dominance over both Severus and Izar.

With surprisingly gentle hands, Riddle took hold of Izar's white sleeve and slowly rolled up the material. His arm was revealed and Izar could sense Riddle's magic swiftly turn darker. The young wizard shuddered, trying to control his shaking at being so close to the powerfully potent magic and its every-changing dispositions.

"_You fool," _Voldemort hissed sharply, his eyes now completely crimson as he looked up at Izar. "You are a fool." The man repeated, looking back down at his arm.

Izar refused to blush. But like most things, it was difficult to control and he could feel his flush creep up the back of his neck and the tops of his ears. Luckily, he was sure his face was already red from his fever, so it wouldn't be evident that he was affected by the Dark Lord's comment. Izar was _not _a fool.

"You are too prideful for your own good," Voldemort whispered, his fingers tightening around Izar's swollen arm. The Ravenclaw gave a whimper, closing his eyes and looking away in shame. "It is rare, but there are a few cases in which a wizard's body rejects the Mark, and in turn, the salve. I have to personally remove the infection from their system but only if they are _smart _enough to ask. Otherwise, they end up losing their arm."

Izar's eyes widened. He turned to look at Riddle, watching as the Dark Lord studied his arm closely. "Surely I won't have to lose my arm," Izar breathed, his eyes a bit wide as Riddle looked up at him.

"_Surely, _you will, alas," Riddle spoke calmly, his tone showing nothing short of unsympathetic remorse. "However," Voldemort continued; a wicked gleam in his eyes. "There is a remedy, one that can be easily taken care of on one condition."

Izar glanced shyly at Severus. The man was looking down, almost bored at his current position. But Izar knew the man was listening closely. "On what condition?" Izar asked slowly, already fearing the answer.

Cold fingers splayed the length of his throat and the Dark Lord tipped Izar's head back ever so slightly. The man's eyes were bright with an unidentified emotion as they danced across Izar's delicate features. "You'll have to ask me, plead." The long fingernails scraped Izar's neck, careful not to break the skin this time. "Bend that pretty little neck of yours, Mr. Harrison."

In short, the Dark Lord wanted Izar to submit, to become submissive to him.

If it was any other pain, any hex or curse, Izar could have suffered it in silence. He had to admit, living in the orphanage for the better part of his year, had increased his pain tolerance. He broke many bones and sliced many parts of his skin open. Eventually, he had come to handle the pain.

But _this _was entirely different. It was affecting his whole body, and in turn, his mind. His mind was the most precious thing Izar held dear.

"I…" he started off hesitantly. He had never asked for help before. It was difficult coming from his mouth. Luckily, the Dark Lord's expression was neither eager nor arrogant. Instead, the man looked expectant and a bit peeved. "My Lord, could you please heal my arm?" Izar spoke to the ground near Voldemort's kneeling form.

The man tsked, his fingers grasping a hold of Izar's chin. "Look in my eyes." Crimson eyes held Izar' stare, not allowing the younger to look away. "I'm not only doing this out of my own pleasure, Izar, I also want you to accept help. You have gone too long without anyone assisting you. It's time for you to accept help from your betters."

_My betters_. Izar scowled. "Am I really accepting help if it was forced on me?" Instead of being angry, like Izar had braced himself for, the Dark Lord's lips quirked once, before his expression bore impatience. "I will _never _ask for assistance after this," Izar vowed heatedly. He was aware of Snape tensing in the corner of the room, but he couldn't look away from Voldemort. The man looked less than pleased. "My Lord, _please, _could you heal my arm?"

Voldemort released his jaw in a rather forceful matter, taking Izar's arm once again.

With sharp eyes, Izar drank in the man's proceedings. This could either confirm Izar's suspicions or create new questions of how the Mark worked.

Izar's eyes grew wide as he watched the Dark Lord press his wand sharply against the Dark Mark. Izar gave a closed-mouth moan, his brows furrowing in pain. He needed to stay conscious. No matter the pain, he _needed _to see this.

And just like that, without any spoken words, without any Latin-based charms, his arm slowly began to heal itself. Izar watched as his fingers turned back to his normal size and the revitalizing feeling tingled up his arm at a slow, but steady pace. He gave a pleased laugh, feeling a bit light-headed with all the magic washing through him.

His body rocked forward involuntary and he found himself breathing in Voldemort's robes. No matter how hard he tried to push himself away from the Dark Lord, he found his body paralyzed, almost if his muscles turned to goo. So, instead, he closed his eyes, taking in man's masculine and spicy scent.

His arm… it felt so _good_.

Izar hoped his wasn't drooling. It was kind of hard not to when his whole body was slack.

A shuffling was heard from across the room where Snape was. "I can handle a fifteen-year-old child, Severus," the Dark Lord's voice spoke irritably. A hand wrapped itself around Izar's back, pushing him more securely against the Dark Lord. Izar closed his eyes, rather comfortable in the man's arms despite his usual disagreement when it came to physical touch.

Unexpectedly, hissing tickled his ear and Izar stiffened as much as his body would allow it. He had forgotten, somewhere, he read that Tom Marvolo Riddle was a Parseltongue, the Slytherin heir. It wasn't publicized very often, at least not by Riddle's supports. His critics, however, seemed to squeeze that bit of information in the papers as much as possible, just to remind the readers that the seemingly _middle-aged _politician could have an evil streak.

They were right all along.

But Izar had always been curious what it would be like to hear Parseltongue. And he finally got what he wanted.

The hissing started off irate, perhaps a bit reprimanding. And then it softened into something of a croon that made the hairs on the back of Izar's neck stand up. Merlin, was this really happening? Izar wanted nothing more than to blush, maybe back away. He wasn't prepared for the pleasant shivers making their way down his spine.

Merlin, he was such a bloody _pansy _today.

Luckily, it ended quickly and Izar found himself being lowered to the ground gently. He opened his eyes, a confused frown on his lips when he realized his arm was no longer burning and throbbing, but his muscles were still unusable.

"You should be able to move within a few minutes," the Dark Lord informed, slowly getting to his feet in one graceful motion.

"Your…" Izar started; his tongue heavy. "Wand…"

Voldemort looked highly amused. "My wand, yes, Mr. Harrison, this is my wand." The man's long fingers caressed his wand before he placed it up his sleeve.

It was the man's _wand core _that connected all the Death Eaters' Marks together. It wasn't a potion, or any spell, it was the man's core. Izar gave a laugh, but with his slack mouth, it came out as more of a giggle. He didn't care how ridiculous he sounded. He already made a fool of himself plenty of times in the course of _one _day. My, how far he'd fallen.

The only bright side of today was that his suspicions were confirmed.

The only _problem_? He needed to find out what the man's wand core was. And Izar knew better than to ask the Dark Lord. It was a private issue for some wizards and it would be seen as disrespectful on Izar's behalf to ask his Master.

As his body began to gain feeling, he slowly sat up and studied his arm. It was back to normal. There was only a slight burn and tingle from his Mark and Izar had a suspicion it was because of Voldemort's proximity. "Thank you," he muttered softly.

"You can do one thing for me, Mr. Harrison," Voldemort leaned forward, grasping Izar's chin in his hands and bringing his gaze onto his own. "Study hard this year. I want Dumbledore to regret not moving you to seventh year like you should have been. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Izar gave a sharp nod, watching as Voldemort dropped his jaw and made his way to the door.

No one had ever expected him to do well in school. No one ever showed a concern.

But something about the man's command made Izar unsettled.

There was something much _deeper _going on here.

**Death of Today**

"Are you going to place my name in the Goblet, father? Or did you want me to do so?" A boy questioned. His tone held a bit of coldness to it and a lot of arrogance. His cool blue eyes looked at his tall father between a fall of dark hair.

The man in question, the Norwegian Minister, gave his son a smile. It wasn't a welcoming smile and anyone who would have seen it would have shrunk away. "I will, my son," the Minister stood up. "We will _destroy _the British government again this year. Riddle, in particular, won't stand a chance."

The smile turned into a deep sneer as he thought of the British Undersecretary to the Minister. That _fool _bet enough money to rival a family's life savings on this Tournament, foolishly vowing that the British would crush the Norwegians this Tournament. The Norwegian Minister remembered the egotistical gleam in Riddle's eyes as he placed his bet.

Riddle had something up his sleeve this Tournament.

And the Norwegian Minister would play right back.

It was cut throat, this Tournament. And he wouldn't be played as a fool, especially by Riddle.


	9. Part I Chapter 9

**Note on Durmstrang**: The school is unplotted and its location is unknown. There are websites that predict that Durmstrang is in Bulgaria, yes, but those are just *predictions*. There are other websites, like Harry Potter Wiki, that say the "school is located in northern Scandinavia, in the northernmost regions of either Sweden or Norway".

**Chapter Nine**

The Great Hall was abuzz as the students spoke quickly and louder than usual.

Daphne sniffed, sneering at her fellow classmates at their obnoxious behavior. _Honestly_, there were limits to showing your excitement for an event and this was clearly over the line. Once her classmates caught her disproving stare, they quieted, glancing solemnly at each other.

Sometimes, she wondered why she even bothered to keep up pretenses. Her father, Merlin bless him, always expected Daphne to show proper pure-blood edict when in public. She loved her father with everything she had, but at times, she grew tired representing the long and old line of Greengrass. Because her mother and father hadn't conceived a male heir, the pressure of continuing on the Family name landed with Daphne.

Her dark green gaze nonchalantly looked down the Slytherin table at her younger sister, Astoria. Jealousy licked at Daphne when she watched her fourteen-year-old sibling. Astoria was a very beautiful young lady. Her blond hair was more platinum than Daphne's golden blond. Her eyes were a stunning shade of blue while Daphne's were a dark, almost moldy green. Astoria had more of a natural beauty to her. Daphne had to work on her appearance.

But most of all, Daphne was jealous of her younger sister simply because _she _could have fun. There were no pure-blood expectations on her. Their father pampered and spoiled Astoria and he let her unwind and be herself in public as long as she did not make a fool of their Family name.

And she didn't have to marry into a pure-blood family simply because Daphne was the eldest, the one who _needed _to marry a respectful family.

Despite all this, Daphne admittedly loved Astoria and felt immensely protective over her.

Daphne turned away from Astoria as she laughed with her friends and Daphne found her gaze directed on the Ravenclaw table. Sometimes, she wished Izar Harrison could be a pure-blood wizard. Even as she looked at the Ravenclaw table, she knew she wouldn't see the boy. The Ravenclaw, despite it only being three days after they arrived at school, was in the library. It shouldn't have surprised her. In fact, it _didn't _surprise her. Instead, it worried her. Even Daphne could see the stress weighing down the Ravenclaw's shoulders. He never showed it, of course, but Daphne was very observant when it came to her little Ravenclaw.

The voices across the Great Hall dimmed significantly, and if possible, so did the burning candles.

All eyes were on the Goblet, holding their breath as the flames turned a blinding white-blue. It was almost hard to look at with all the candles dimmed.

Daphne sat up, intrigued. Malfoy claimed he would be the Hogwarts Champion; in fact, he went so far to brag to the rest of the Slytherins about how he would bring pride to their House. Daphne didn't find anything impressive of the young Malfoy's claims. In fact, she would bet Malfoy Senior would be less than happy if he knew his heir was acting so… pompous and obvious.

"It is almost time," Dumbledore swept from the head table, his hand outstretched toward the Goblet.

Daphne held her breath as the flames turned a vivid red before a piece of parchment shot from the Goblet. It spiraled in the air, every pair of eyes watching its smoky path. Dumbledore snatched it from the air before it could descend too low.

His eyes squinted as he read the small piece of parchment, probably enjoying the way every student and politician leaned forward, holding their breath. Daphne could have sworn he saw the old man's lips twitch.

"The Durmstrang Champion is… Lukas Steinar!"

Daphne watched as a tall, thin boy stood up from a group of Durmstrang students. Her eyes judged him, intrigued. He was very attractive. Silky black hair fell in his bright eyes, the boy exuded coolness. Definitely not as beautiful as Izar, but there was definitely competition. And to make matters even more appealing, he was the Norwegian Minister's son. And pure-blood.

Daphne watched as he took the small bit of parchment from Dumbledore and disappeared in one of the side doors after a clasp on the back from both his father and Headmaster Karkaroff.

"The Beauxbatons Champion is… Cyprien Beaumont!"

Surprisingly, it was a male Beauxbatons Champion. Daphne sat back, both pleased and irritated. She was pleased, simply because she didn't think any of the Beauxbatons girls were remotely important enough to be so publicized, yet, Daphne had hoped a female had been chosen for at least one school.

There was always the Hogwarts Champion.

If _Malfoy _didn't get it, that was.

She watched the redhead, Cyprien, enter the side chamber. Seeing him, she found herself changing her earlier opinion about redheads. Usually, when she thought about redheads, her mind would spring up with the image of a _Weasley_. It was distasteful.

Before Daphne could really observe Cyprien, the flames turned red once again and the last piece of parchment shot out.

"The Hogwarts Champion is…"

Everyone sat forward, Draco, almost landing in his dinner, looked as smug as the albino peacocks his family kept around their manor. Daphne observed her nails despite the lack of decent lighting. Was it just her, or were her nails getting a bit… _stubby_?

"Izar Harrison?"

Her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened before she could remember that Greengrass' _don't _look like a fish under water. Did the Headmaster really just say what she thought he had? But there was _no _way he could have uttered the name she thought he had. Most of the students and staff members leaned forward even more, their faces twisting in incoherence. They hadn't heard either. The man had spoken it so softly.

"Izar Harrison!" The Headmaster shouted loudly, causing the Hall to lean backward from the mere volume.

Dumbledore turned to the Ravenclaw table and the rest of the heads followed suit when they didn't know where else to look. There weren't many people who knew who Izar Harrison _was_. And because of that, there weren't many who knew he was underage.

Daphne covered her mouth with her hand, a pleased laugh escaping her. Oh, _this _was just too good. What made it even greater was Malfoy's flabbergasted look. Daphne wished that annoying Gryffindor was around with his camera. Or better yet, Rita Skeeter, the woman waiting in the Trophy chamber with the Champions.

The Ravenclaw table was in uproar as they looked around for the Champion. Daphne rolled her eyes. Izar needed to start telling people where he was going. The boy could be kidnapped from school and no one would know, simply because Izar kept to himself too often.

She sniffed, standing up from the Slytherin tables. All eyes turned to her. She kept her face cool. "Izar's in the library, Headmaster," she drawled, lifting her chin.

There were snickers and whispers that spread across the Hall. What Champion, who put his name in the Goblet, would be in the _library _when they were about to announce the winners? It was outrageous. Little did they know that Izar had _not _put his name in the Goblet. Even Daphne wasn't thick enough to believe that.

But it did leave the question of who did. Who was cruel enough to put in another's name? Especially another who wanted nothing to do with the Tournament?

Dumbledore gave a sharp nod, his face twisting into understanding. It was if the man _should _have known that was where Izar was. "Will you go collect him, Ms. Greengrass, and tell him to meet us in the Trophy Room?"

She nodded, keeping her cool as she swept from the Great Hall.

Izar wasn't going to like this at all.

And Daphne was looking forward to it.

**Death of Today**

Izar pushed the parchment away from him, grinning as he realized he had already finished the essay for Charms which was due in next weeks time. It was relatively easy enough and Izar was a bit disappointed that it hadn't challenged him like he was looking forward to. Hopefully Defense Against the Dark Arts would be a bit more… difficult. Even if the material wouldn't challenge Izar, the professor would. Tomorrow was his first class with Sirius Black and Izar knew he would have to work hard at showing his indifference with the professor.

But presently, he was done with his homework, and now he had extra time to look into the Dark Mark. He had already searched the _Eruditio, _the gift Riddle gave him, to see if there were any spells to cast to determine a wizards' wand core. The information in the _Eruditio _was very limited. There were a few potions one could brew to find the properties of one's wand, but the potions took over months to brew. Not only was it time consuming, but the brewer would actually _need _the wand they wanted to find out the properties to.

Why, in Merlin's name, would someone create a useless potion? Obviously, if you had the wand in your possession, finding out the core and wood type would be simple. It didn't help a wizard who had to find out a Dark Lord's wand properties. Izar was more than sure Voldemort wouldn't lend his wand. No matter _how _favored Izar was, no one was trusted and favored enough to hold and possess the Dark Lord's wand.

It was pathetic.

And the few spells inside the book contained the same guidelines. He _needed _to hold the wand in order to find out what the properties were.

So, Izar had played with the idea of asking Ollivander, the old man who had helped Izar find his wand.

Though, there were issues and concerns Izar had come up with.

No two wands were the same. No matter if they shared the same core, they weren't the _same_. Because of this, Izar realized that even if he did gain knowledge of Voldemort's wand core, it would still be difficult to manipulate the Dark Mark. It may be easier, yes, but there were doubts. He needed to determine the type of wood Voldemort had as well. The day Izar had been healed; he caught a glimpse of a lighter wood that could, perhaps be yew, maple, or even balsa.

It was frustrating.

Izar tapped his own wand on the table, eyeing the eleven inch Indian rosewood. His own wand had a hair of a Thestral. It would be rather ironic if Voldemort had the same, but Izar doubted it.

And then there was the question if Izar needed the same _creature _who donated its feather, hair, or heartstring. It would probably make things a bit more realistic in terms of manipulating the Mark, but… thinking about searching for the exact animal seemed impossible. It gave him a migraine.

He would need to ask Ollivander. Though, Izar had his suspicions that the wand maker would probably not disclose private information on a wizards' wand properties, at least, not over owl.

"_Izar!" _

He flinched, his wand clattering on the table. The ceremony of announcing the Champions couldn't be finished already, could it? He had been looking forward to his time alone in the library. But of course, things never worked out for him, did they?

"Yes, Daphne?" he replied softly, looking coolly up at the blond. She had a wicked grin on her face, he noticed. She would probably start spewing gossip of who the Champions were, and quite frankly, Izar wasn't in the mood to hear it. "If you've come to—,"

"Dumbledore wants to meet you in the Trophy Room. Now." She said quickly, grabbing Izar by the arm and hauling him up.

He blinked. Granted, she was shorter than him, probably the only girl shorter than him, but she was so _strong _for such a little thing. "I need my things—," he batted her persistent hands away as he gathered his things. "What did Headmaster Dumbledore want to discuss with me?" He shot the smug girl a look, frowning. "Isn't he supposed to be meeting with the Champions to discuss the First Task? What does my attendance have to do with the Tournament?"

"Do you have to ask so many questions, Izar?" she hooked her finger onto his sleeve, pulling him out of the library as soon as he shouldered his bag. "Not everything in life needs to be studied so…" her face screwed up rather cutely. "So provisionally..."

Charcoal-green eyes narrowed. "My, my, Daphne, 'provisionally' is a big word for _you_. Do you even know what it means? I would suggest 'analytically' is the better word for what you had in mind, but I'll give you credit for trying to impress me with your exceptional vocabulary. "

She threw him a nasty look before letting his sleeve go. Whatever she was about to say next, Izar knew he wasn't going to like it. Her expression said it all. "You're Hogwarts' Champion."

"Excuse me?" Izar chuckled, finding it rather humorous. "What did you say?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at him evenly. "I'm not joking around with you, Izar; your name was pulled out of the Goblet. Dumbledore wants you in the Trophy Room."

When he realized she wasn't fooling around with him, Izar turned his heel and quickly walked to the Trophy Room, leaving Daphne alone in the corridor.

This couldn't be. He didn't put his name in the Goblet; there wasn't any chance of him putting it in himself. The age-line restricted him from crossing it. Not only that, but he wasn't remotely interested in the Tournament. The very thought of competing set Izar's teeth on edge.

He ran a hand through his hair, probably disordering it more than it already was. Izar opened the door to the Trophy Room, swallowing thickly before walking down the stairs. Already, he could hear the arguing from the chamber. They were arguing about _him_. Izar paused, unsure if he really wanted to go down there. They actually thought he put his name in the Goblet. How amusing was that? It was the last thing he ever wanted to do and hopefully Dumbledore knew a way to get him out of the Tournament.

But Izar knew it was null and void trying to back out of the Tournament.

"If anyone can successfully cross Albus' age restriction line, it would be Mr. Harrison," professor McGonagal's voice floated up the stairs. "The boy is a pure genius."

"But a fifteen year old? Surely there is something a little fishy about his status of a Champion." The voice that spoke was that of a Norwegian, Izar noted. His thick accent was a stark contrast to the British voices. "I'm sure someone tampered with the Goblet. And I don't think we should have the boy competing." The man, Izar thought to be the Minister of Norway, sounded as if he were accusing someone of setting Izar up.

At least _someone _was on his side.

"Or," a female French woman interrupted the tension. Izar knew it was Madame Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons. "As Minerva has explained earlier, the boy could have done it himself. Apparently he is smart enough to do so. Surely he wants glory, fame…"

"The boy does not strike me as someone who searches for attention," the grim and deep baritone voice of Severus interrupted.

"Then why wasn't he at supper?" Maxime questioned. "I'm sure he was too guilty to face his wrongdoings."

"Or…" Izar drawled as he stepped off the last stair and into the fire-lit chamber. All heads turned to him. "I could have been in the library finishing up my Charms essay," he shrugged. "But I suppose your theory sounds so much more… impressive." Izar noted the whole group was in the Trophy Room. The Headmasters and Headmistress, the Ministers of each country, and a few professors. There was also one Undersecretary of the Minister, Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord stood among the group, looking oddly normal.

But Izar knew he was anything but normal. Every time the man moved, he demanded attention. Even under a glamour the man exuded presence. Tonight, though, he seemed oddly passive, choosing not to voice his opinions.

"Izar," Dumbledore swept forward, his brows furrowing in concern. He held up a strong hand, halting a blond woman with her camera man from approaching Izar. "Not yet, Rita," Dumbledore commanded sharply.

Rita Skeeter. Izar withheld a grimace, trying his best to remain impassive at the moment. Dumbledore opened his mouth, most likely to demand if Izar had put his name in the Goblet, but he was interrupted.

"_This _is the boy?" Maxime demanded, looking down a far way in order to properly look at Izar. "He looks no older than thirteen."

Izar flinched, this time, sneering. "If we are judging age by height, Madame, you must be pushing—," a hand closed around his shoulder, cutting him off before he could insult a very prominent figure in the French world. Izar refused to look down in shame, but he did glance at Snape, silently thanking the man for shutting him up.

"A Slytherin," Rita exclaimed excitedly as she looked between Severus Snape and Izar. After all, what other student would be comfortable enough in Professor Snape's presence? "There hasn't been a Slytherin Champion for over thirty years."

"Yes," Izar drawled. "Because the raven on my school robes resembles a serpent _exceptionally well._" He spoke dryly, staring at the woman as if she were thick. Rita cleared her throat, finally noting his Ravenclaw robes. She sniffed, looking away as if she hadn't heard Izar's remark.

A hand steered him away from both Snape and Rita. Izar found himself looking up into the concerned face of Albus Dumbledore. The old Headmaster had bent his spine a bit so he could meet Izar's eyes more comfortably. "Did you put your name in the Goblet, Izar?"

Dumbledore had pulled Izar away, yet it wasn't far enough to obscure his conversation from the others. "No, Headmaster, I would never put my name in that Goblet. The very idea of the Tournament turns me off." A few snorts were heard from the spectators, but Izar paid them no heed. His eyes were looked on Dumbledore's soft blue eyes. The man hadn't accused him, instead, he had asked an honest question.

The Headmaster gave a soft smile, standing straight once again. "Do you have any idea who would put your name in the Goblet? Any suspicions?"

"Perhaps an older Ravenclaw," Izar muttered, realizing before it was too late that it probably wasn't the best thing to say. But if he had to think of someone who would put his name in the Goblet, it would be the older Ravenclaws. Wasn't it only two days ago when they expressed Izar should bring glory to their House?

Dumbledore raised his brows, looking truly surprised. "Why would your own House want to put you in danger?" Izar looked away, his gaze directed at the many trophies in the room. "Izar," the man gently persuaded.

"We've had a few disagreements, that's all," Izar supplied quickly.

"I'd say let the boy compete," a new voice, rivaling the Norwegian Minister's accent, spoke up.

Izar turned, his eyes immediately drawn to the tall brunette across the room. The tall teen had Durmstrang school robes on, looking far too haughty in Izar's opinion. The Durmstrang student's eyes were roaming Izar, a twitch to his lips. If the student wiped the arrogant smirk off his face, Izar believed he would have looked halfway decent. Except for the hair. While it may have been every female's envy- silky and straight, it did cover one of his blue eyes into what he might have thought was fashionable. Izar didn't think it was remotely intriguing.

Izar knew the boy was the Durmstrang Champion and behind him, the tall redhead, was the Beauxbatons Champion. The redhead appeared a lot kinder, a bit friendlier as he offered Izar a small smile.

"After all," the Durmstrang student continued, scoffing. "If it comes down to it, I don't even think he'd be able to reach the Trophy."

Izar bristled, his eyes narrowing into slits. When it came to his height, he grew a bit sensitive. "Is this coming from the boy who can't see past the hair in his face?"

Instead of stamping his foot and looking insulted, the Durmstrang students' eyes grow wide before narrowing in consideration. It was almost if he _enjoyed _Izar's retort. A light smile played the boy's face as he drank in the sight of Izar, memorizing and observing.

"I'm afraid, no matter the consequences, Mr.—" Riddle began, motioning with his hand toward Izar as if he'd forgotten his name. Izar couldn't help himself. The man was _brilliant _at acting the politician.

"Izar Harrison," McGonagal supplied, casting a look at Riddle over her spectacles.

"Yes, Mr. Harrison is entitled to compete, no matter his age of 'thirteen'. Once his name is pulled from the Goblet, he becomes constrained to participate in the Tournament until the last Task." Riddle flashed Izar an almost disgusted grimace, turning into a straight-backed politician. "It's a pity this had to happen. If we find evidence that you placed your own name in the Goblet, I can assure you, boy, you will face some serious consequences. There were many people relying on Britain succeeding this time around."

His words were so real and so well versed, Izar found it hard not to believe the man. But just _how _did the Dark Lord feel about Izar's participation in the Tournament? Was the man truly disappointed that Izar's name was called? It was difficult to tell, and Izar knew he wouldn't know the man's true feelings for quite some time.

Next to a silent Karkaroff, the Norwegian Minister looked just as bemused as Izar, if a bit suspicious.

"Now, now, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore placed himself in front of Izar, cutting off Riddle's stare. "Mr. Harrison is just as guilty as the rest of us. There is no certainty as who placed his name in the Goblet. I can only hope you will support Izar instead of slighting him."

If Dumbledore was suspicious of Tom Riddle's true identity of a Dark Lord, then the old Headmaster would know Tom's dislike for Muggle-borns. Dumbledore, in turn, would believe that Riddle was disgusted with Izar because he was Muggle-born. Izar thought it was rather brilliant on the Dark Lord's behalf. His position of a Death Eater probably wouldn't cross Dumbledore's mind.

"Gather around," Rita took control of the situation, motioning the Champions near the fire hearth. "We will need a photograph for tomorrow's story. Of course, we'll take more photos at the Wand Weighing ceremony, but we must tease our readers." She appeared all but tickled as she debated on the perfect pose for all three Champions.

_Wand Weighing ceremony…_ Izar mused for a moment, ignoring the Durmstrang Champion's stare.

"Harrison could stand on the chair over there. At least then, he may be as tall as us. But that's only a rough estimate." The Norwegian boy grinned down at Izar, a mocking look upon his face.

Izar threw the chair in question a look before crossing the room. He was aware of the others' surprise at him following the Durmstrang's order, but he ignored them in favor of sitting down. The chair looked similar to a throne and Izar did his best to settle richly in it. With an arrogant swipe of his leg, he crossed his legs.

"Or maybe, you two can situate yourself _around _me." He grounded out smugly. He flashed the Durmstrang boy a smirk.

Originally, he had been horrified in participating in such a Tournament. But seeing the Durmstrang boy, Izar realized how fun it could be trouncing on the boy's arrogance. Just because he was Hogwarts' Champion, didn't necessarily mean he had to be in the limelight all the time, did it?

But then he remembered his projects he wanted to complete before the year was over. Immediately, he became a bit disheartened. Maybe stepping on the Durmstrang boy wouldn't be as fun as it sounded. Not when he had so much to balance on his plate.

This year was going to be _chaos_.

**Death of Today**

Tapered fingers unrolled the _Prophet _as his free hand went to grab his cup of tea. Pale grey eyes caught a glimpse at the front page, snorting when he read the headline. So it appeared as if the Triwizard would be taking place again this year, this time at Hogwarts.

Vivid charcoal eyes danced across the photo of the three Champions, uninterested, yet curious at the same time. It was always amusing to see if he recognized familiar wizarding names he went to school with. It seemed like ages ago, but it was only sixteen years.

His gaze immediately zeroed in on the boy in the middle. His heart thumped once before it sped up to dangerous levels. His left hand collided shakily with the tea cup, sending the fragile porcelain clattering to the ground. It broke in pieces, sending hot liquid everywhere.

"Kreacher!" He yelled hoarsely, a sign that he didn't use his voice very often. His feet were burning from the spilt tea, but he hardly noticed as he clutched the _Prophet _closer to him. He was trembling. Thick grief washed over him. "Damnit, _Lily_!"

He threw the _Prophet _down, and in a fit of rage, he brought back his arm and pushed all the porcelain dishes off the table, growling in fury.

"Master Regulus, sirs," Kreacher whimpered, backing away as he appeared in the room.

Regulus gave a deep whimper, falling to his chair and covering his vulnerable face with his hands. No matter what he thought about Lily before, no matter how much Regulus suffered for the betrayal almost fifteen years ago, it would never compare to _this_, this betrayal. Not when a child was involved. His child.

"We leave for Britain, Kreacher," Regulus pulled himself together, his eyes hard. Reluctantly, he stared down at the _Prophet, _his eyes almost obsessively drinking in the boy. His name, rather ironically, was Izar. Izar was the star in the constellation of Boötes, conveniently located in the same constellation as the star Arcturus. There were three generations of Arcturus' in the Black family. Not only that, but Regulus' middle name was Arcturus.

The surname really _itched _him the wrong way. Harrison. Izar Harrison. Regulus raked his fingers through his hair, his teeth on edge. _'An orphan, a Muggle-born orphan'_ the paper read. What in Merlin's name was Lily playing at?

"Britain, Master Regulus?" Kreacher repeated, his ears falling. "But the Dark Lord, Masters—"

"It doesn't matter," Regulus snapped a bit too harshly. "Pack my things. We're leaving as soon as possible."


	10. Part I Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Izar dipped his head toward his textbook, not meeting any of the curious eyes. It was difficult to come to terms with being… noticed. The only time Izar had ever been noticed was in his younger years at the Muggle orphanage. And the attention he got then was less than positive. He would always be teased and bullied because Louis had targeted him as his own personal toy. The Muggle had all but made Izar's life a living hell. And the other kids seemed to gain courage enough to follow in Louis' footsteps, simply because Izar was always small for his age.

However, the attention he was getting now was of a different kind.

The students had never heard of him. They were curious. Even more so when the word spread that he was underage to compete. The rumors were outrageous, as was the undying gossip and giggles.

Izar even had to skip breakfast because he didn't want anything to do with the gossip. His stomach was completely empty and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday at lunch. Izar didn't know when he would be able to eat his next meal. The thought of going to lunch in the crowded Great Hall set his stomach in a sea of anxiety.

After he had met the group yesterday in the Trophy Room, he had made his way to the Ravenclaw Common Room. On his arrival, there were countless of Ravenclaws waiting up for him, eager to find out how he'd gotten past the age restriction line. Without a word, Izar had swept right past them and closed himself in his bed, curtains drawn for the rest of the night.

He didn't know who put his name in the Goblet. And he also knew that it was impossible to track down who did. He already had enough on his plate this term; he didn't have any time to figure out who targeted him.

Who would have thought he would be a nobody and then turn into a somebody in the time span of a few hours?

Izar was currently sitting in the DADA classroom, waiting for Professor Black to enter. The rest of the students were buzzing about the Tournament, throwing glances across the room as if he'd jump up and join them. Unlikely. If anything, he'd rather chuck his book at them than hear any more of their wild assumptions.

Izar snorted, burying his face into the textbook as he caught sight of Sirius Black gliding into the room. The man had his shoulders swept back and his chest inflated in front of him. It looked as if the man had cast an inflatable spell to his torso before he came into class.

"Good morning class," Sirius started a bit darkly.

Situating his book so Izar could watch Sirius comfortably and still appear reading, he allowed his eyes to wash the length of Sirius' body. Because he was closer in class than he was in the Great Hall, Izar noted the mischievous lines around Sirius' face. But more disturbingly, the man's good humor lines seemed to have dulled over time. It was almost if Sirius was once a young man full of humor and radiance and then something came along to turn his ways around.

The older man seemed to have a bit of shadow to him, a similar shadow Lily Potter carried.

Izar shook himself, not willing to _think _on his mother. But then again, this was his uncle standing not even ten feet from him; an uncle that didn't even know his only nephew existed.

Sirius walked behind his desk, looking down on at a roll of parchment. "I will call your names, please state that you are present," his black feathered quill dipped in his inkwell before he started roll call.

Interestingly, Sirius Black seemed to have a bit of a… alternative personality disorder. The man all but jumped excitedly as he recognized a student's surname. He then started questioning the student in question about their parents or relatives. Izar observed as Anna Beth Tully, a sixth year Hufflepuff, blushed and replied to Sirius' eager questions. Apparently, after a bit more digging, Sirius claimed he had gone to school with both her mother and father.

Izar raised an eyebrow, watching Sirius closely. The man's personality was hard to judge. There was a child within Sirius, but there was also a dark, brooding adult, an adult that saw a lot and experienced a bit of pain. And then there were also the conflicting personalities of a gentle and caring adult and a mischievous child who could, in all actuality, be a little bastard with a cruel streak.

It was _just_ Izar's perception. He usually judged characters correctly, and Sirius, so far, was the most troubling.

Of course, there could be the excuse of the Black line. The Blacks interbred quite frequently. Their incest bonding could have affected Sirius Black more than the man let on.

"Izar Harrison," Sirius' voice was dim, a large difference from his previous tone.

Charcoal-green eyes focused sharply on the man's turned face. Sirius wouldn't look up from the parchment like he did every other student. Instead, Izar noticed his fingers tightening at the side of the desk and the stubborn clench in the jaw line. Oh, the man _wanted_, almost _needed _to look at Izar. The Ravenclaw could see how badly Sirius wanted to fixate his stare on Izar.

"Here, Professor Black," Izar drawled, smirking.

Sirius breathed heavily, giving in and looking at Izar from the corner of his eye.

By Sirius' actions, Izar knew the man had a hunch of his parentage. In fact, the man all but appeared to have seen a ghost. His lips were tense, turning white around the mouth. The charcoal eyes of his were dilated and narrowed.

Nostrils flaring, Sirius turned back to his desk, staring blankly at the parchment before continuing the roll call. Izar looked away, swiftly noting Granger's observance. He flashed her a cool look before turning back to his book. She was an annoying Mudblood who stuck her nose into other people's business too often. He had watched her from afar throughout the years. She didn't have many friends, if any at all. Like Izar, she preferred books to socializing, but she also preferred the spotlight whereas Izar preferred the shadows.

"I've glanced over the coursework of your previous professors," Sirius walked back around his desk, leaning on the piece of furniture. "While they have all covered the material adequately, there is one area you will all need work on. It's an area; I believe, as an Auror, is very important for any witch and wizard."

Izar shut his book, interested to hear what the man would say.

"Dueling."

Izar glowered, his mood dimming. Dueling wasn't his strong point. He had never participated in a duel before. Well, that was a _lie. _He had once, and it had turned out horribly. Whereas Izar could ace any verbal, written, or hands on exam, he always had trouble competing with dueling. He was too analytical to think on his feet. When it was time for him to cast a spell, his mind gave him a long list of possibilities and Izar had to go through each one and recite the affects of each curse and hex. It was ridiculous. And as a result, dueling was something Izar tried his best to avoid.

"We will be doing mostly hands on work in this class. To prepare you, I'd like for you to read the first two chapter of your textbook. In there, you will find the formal etiquette and traditions one needs to abide with in formal dueling. There will be a five foot essay due next class period."

Groans were heard throughout the class, at least on the Hufflepuff side. Sirius grinned, chuckling. "I'm just kidding," his chuckle died down when the Ravenclaws blinked dully at him. The man cleared his throat. "There will be no homework assigned. But I expect you all to _read_. You may do the reading for the rest of the class period in the library. Or you can just save it all until the last moment like I used to." The Auror moved down the aisle of students, heading towards the exit. "Dismissed."

He was out the door before any student had the chance to stand up.

The class remained seated, whispering amongst each other of the odd proceedings. There was hardly a time a professor let out a class early, almost an _hour _early, and left before the students.

Izar thought it rather amusing. He had driven the older wizard away. Hopefully Izar would see a bit more _balls _from his uncle later on in the semester. While it was satisfying watching Sirius shift uncomfortably, it was also nice to see some family resemblance when it came to character.

"Are you related to Professor Black?" It was Granger. She leaned over his desk to whisper it to him.

Izar found himself first distracted by her two large front teeth, then her obnoxious inquisitive look about her. "We both have dark hair, a pale complexion, and a penis. If you think that is all that is required to be related to Professor Black, I'm afraid you have more than half of Hogwarts to interrogate. However, I'm sure _they _will be more eager to speak with you." Izar packed his things, ignoring Granger's flush on her cheeks. She was probably all ruffled because he had _dared _to speak the word 'penis' around a female.

Before he could leave, she stopped him again.

"Izar," she said breathlessly. "I've noticed you skipping meals… its not good for a growing boy to skip meals. Especially if said boy is declared the Hogwarts Champion." Before Izar could let loose the acidic comment on his tongue, she continued. Leaning closer, she looked around and lowered her voice. "Right beneath the Great Hall, there is a portrait of a bowl of fruit. Tickle the pear and you will find yourself presently surprised."

It was if she were rehearsing a riddle. She even offered him a mystifying smile before leaving the classroom.

Izar stood stiffly, wondering if he should brush her germs off his robes or follow her advice.

He did both.

**Death of Today**

_Izar,_

_It pains me to write to you so informally, so surreptitiously, when all I want to do is speak to you unreservedly. But I need to see you, face to face. I know you are smart enough not to trust a meager letter, so I will agree to meet you halfway in order to put your uncertainty at ease. _

_We can meet in a public place, preferably at the Hogs Head. You have a Hogsmeade trip next weekend, is that correct? All you need to do is enter the Hogs Head. I will approach you personally. You have nothing to be suspicious of. I will do you no harm, never. _

_Desperately awaiting your arrival at the Hogs Head,_

_R. _

Izar clutched the torn and worn piece of paper, grimacing at the stone wall across from him. He had received it a few days ago; in fact, he received it the day of Sirius Black's first class. A good week had gone by since then and this weekends' Hogsmeade trip was already _here. _Tomorrow would be the day of their Hogsmeade trip. Izar had his suspicions of who had sent this letter. And he was far from pleased. Regulus Arcturus Black, the 'proclaimed' dead wizard who betrayed Lord Voldemort.

So, why was Regulus contacting Izar now?

He knew why.

Because both his name and photograph were in the papers not too long ago. He was declared 'noticeable' now by the population of Hogwarts, and no doubt, by the public eye. Regulus must have taken notice and felt the need to contact Izar, his _bastard _son. Did the man want to get on good terms now that Izar would bring fame to the family name? After all, Izar could never be a respectful Black because his mother was a Mudblood witch. Or did he think Izar could somehow help him get out of Voldemort's fury of betraying him?

He lifted his lip, clenching his teeth together in distaste. He would like nothing better than to stand Regulus up. But his curiosity was at its highest. He _had _to quench his interest. But no matter what happened, Izar refused to accept Regulus.

"Izar!"

Izar pocketed the letter, keeping still when he felt Daphne make her way down the corridor. For a good week, Izar had been able to stay in the shadows, distancing himself from all the attention. Thanks to Granger, he had found the kitchens and had not starved. He would have been dead by now, of starvation, simply because he refused to enter the Great Hall at meal times. Too many wizards wanted to befriend him and pat him on the back.

It was disquieting.

Earlier, when he had been declared, he thought it wouldn't be too bad. He had lied to himself wholly that day. He hated this attention. And he wanted nothing more than to be back in the shadows, the unknown Ravenclaw boy.

"You've been avoiding me too long, _boy_," the short witch complained heatedly. Her nostrils were flared, an added indicator of her resentment. "I'm not going to take it anymore, do you understand me?"

Izar glanced down, meeting her dark green gaze. "Yes ma'am," he replied impassively, used to her ridiculous demands.

Her lips twitched and her hands fell on to her hips. "I am honestly amazed at how you can disappear so easily. If you actually had someone to look after you, like me, you would give them a heart attack at your long periods of absences. The only reason I knew you were alive is because we have a few classes together. And then you just… _leave _as soon as we're dismissed." She sounded crestfallen, and Izar couldn't help but to grin. "You aren't at any of the meals and you aren't in the corridors after classes."

"I apologize," he replied, not really remorseful. "I'm just not enjoying the attention. I'd rather stay _out _of that attention."

She reached forward, looping her arm into his rather forcibly. She pulled him away from the wall and the two walked down the corridor, arm in arm. "You're going to eventually have to step out of the shadows, Izar. You are going to be a grown man soon, one that will need to interact with others, politically. I need to work on that with you, train you."

Izar withheld a snort; however, he did nothing to hide the amused smirk. "Just because I'm Hogwarts Champion, doesn't mean I'm all of a sudden a dancing politician, Daphne."

She glowered angrily. "I'm not just talking about this Tournament, Izar. You're almost going to graduate. And you'll be on your own then. You'll have a job to do. What will you do if you work in the Ministry? You must have dancing etiquette. However do you think you will keep your job position amongst the pure-blood vultures?"

He wasn't planning on working in the main sector of the Ministry. Little did Daphne know that Izar already had his dream job in the bottom layers of the Ministry, the Unspeakables. He didn't plan on doing anything else. The only difference he wanted to make with his job was actually producing useful experiments to the wizarding population. Thinking about it… made Izar hope Owen, the Head of the Unspeakables, wouldn't make Izar do Time Turners again this upcoming summer.

"I don't know if I can handle more of your social circles, Daphne. The last thing I want to be discussing is Pansy Parkinson's choice in hair clip."

She flashed him a fathoming look. "We've never discussed things like that, Izar."

"Ah yes," Izar nodded. "Obviously, my lack of remembrance on the social parties is a painful reflection of the lack of interest I hold for those…things."

"You're hopeless," Daphne sniffed, pushing back her blond locks with her free hand. "Someday, I will get you to enjoy dancing. You'll be just as good as any pure-blood male."

Izar gave a hum, disinterested.

Before they could merge with a busy corridor, Daphne paused, holding Izar back with her. With her right arm still looped with Izar's, she dug through her book bag at her side. "I made something, or, designed something for the students of Hogwarts. More specifically, I designed them with you in mind."

She pulled out a deep blue armband. On the armband, beautifully calligraphy spelt out _Support Izar Harrison. _Before Izar could comment, the words changed again, spelling out, _Support Hogwarts. _

"They are meant to be worn on your forearm. The Slytherins, particularly, started the trend of wearing them on their left forearm." She gave him a meaningful look as she handed him the armband. Now that they stood in a lighter part of the corridor, Izar could see that Daphne had her own armband on, clutching her left forearm. "I thought it would be a decent idea if you have to reveal a bit of skin during one of the Tasks. You never know what could happen; you always need to be prepared."

Izar took the band, feeling a bit touched. And he _never _felt sentimental. "You know?" He fingered the silky armband, staring at the calligraphy.

"Of course I know," she whispered quietly. "I was there when you were Marked. Most of the Hogwarts' students where in the back, having been presented with the nickel masks, but I could spot you miles away. The Dark Lord was all but glowing as he Marked you." Her lips twitched and her eyes grew excited. "He favors you, you know. Most of the Death Eaters are envious."

Izar snorted, putting the armband in his bag. He would most definitely wear the armband underneath his robes. It would cover the Dark Mark from peering eyes. Despite the fact the Dark Lord Voldemort was not yet widely known to the world, it wasn't something to be advertising.

"I'm serious, Izar. You should be careful. Many of the students who are Death Eaters have been rather vocal about why the Dark Lord would favor a…" she trailed off, her usual cool façade slipping.

"They want to know why he favors a Mudblood?" Izar provided.

"It's wrong of them not to do their research before passing judgment," she pouted, brushing Izar's robes affectionately. "Have you ever thought _they _were the ones to put your name in the Goblet?"

"A jealous Slytherin that wanted me out of the way? Perhaps," Izar mused. In all actuality, that sounded rather believable. "But I'm not favored by the Dark Lord. Besides getting the silver mask first, it doesn't mean he necessarily 'favors' me."

"Whatever you say, Izar," she smoothed her hands down the front of his robes before turning. "You should be getting to the Wand Weighing ceremony. I'm sure the Norwegian Champion is feeling rather arrogant at your disappearance from human society." Her eyes narrowed. "You _do _know that Lukas Steinar is the son of the Norwegian Minister, don't you?"

"I'll let the topic of you knowing my schedule drop. For now." Izar averted the subject away from Lukas, simply because, no, he hadn't known Lukas was the Norwegian Minister's son. Daphne would never let Izar forget his ignorance if she knew.

"I'm expecting you to sit with me at dinner tonight," she called after him as he hurriedly swept away from the darkened corridor.

Izar didn't have the heart to tell her he wouldn't be attending dinner tonight. He would avoid the public eye as long as possible.

He glanced at the old pocket watch he stole from one of the Muggle children at the orphanage and cursed. He was a bit late. But he was only a few paces away from the classroom that the ceremony was taking place at. Still, if Tom Riddle would be there, Izar was _sure _the man would chew his ear off later. His Dark Mark had been burning lately, as if the man was displeased with Izar. No matter how much Izar thought on it, he couldn't remember doing anything that would upset the Dark Lord.

Finally reaching the classroom, Izar opened the door, blinking at how small the room was.

Most the desks were pushed to the sides of the room, creating a bit of space in the middle. A few desks were pushed together, with six chairs behind them. Six chairs for the judges. All of them were present, their eyes turned to Izar as he entered.

The Ravenclaw quietly shut the door behind him, eyeing the two Champions and Rita Skeeter and her photographer, Bozo. But more importantly, Izar kept his attention on the silver haired man in the corner. Ollivander.

"Mr. Harrison," Dumbledore stood up, a warm smile on his face as he ushered Izar deeper into the room. The man was wearing a set of mauve robes with small crescent moons on them. Izar found himself rather amused by the old man.

"Headmaster," Izar greeted lazily, his eyes watching as one of the moons on Dumbledore's robes grew arms and waved. "I like your robes, very ingenious."

The man all but beamed, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Thank you, my boy." The Headmaster paused before leaning down to murmur in Izar's ear. "If you'd like, I can give you the name of my tailor."

Izar's Dark Mark burned rather fiercely, but he remained neutral in the eyes of Dumbledore. "Perhaps later, Headmaster," Izar conceded as he glanced at the Dark Lord beyond Dumbledore. Tom Riddle wasn't looking at Izar; only, he had his attention on a few papers before him.

"Now that we are all present," Dumbledore continued after ushering Izar to a seat before the judges. Izar sat stiffly next to Lukas, ignoring the boy's observance. "I'd like you all to meet the judges this year. For Hogwarts, we have both myself and Mr. Tom Riddle, the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Regrettably, Cornelius Fudge won't be able to take his place as a Tournament judge. He has many projects to take care at the Ministry."

Izar withheld an ironic laugh at that. He was sure Fudge had been manipulated by the Dark Lord to step aside as a judge and allow his Undersecretary to perform the act instead.

Riddle nodded at the Champions, his eyes dancing briefly over Izar before turning away nonchalantly. The Dark Lord _was _upset about something. And Izar was utterly clueless to what it could be. He had his suspicions, but there was no way his uncertainties could be confirmed.

"For Durmstrang, we have Headmaster Karkaroff and Minister Bjørn Steinar."

Bjørn Steinar looked very similar to his son. They both pulled off a cool nonchalance and an air of importance. Bjørn had brown hair, instead of Lukas' black, and he also shared his son's piercing blue eyes. He wasn't as attractive as his son; instead, it was his charisma that made him noticeable. Izar didn't like him. Perhaps it was because he didn't care for Lukas, but no matter what it was; Izar wasn't going to put his trust in the Norwegian Minister.

"And lastly, for Beauxbatons, we have Headmistress Maxime and Minister Serge Roux."

The two French individuals looked rather amusing sitting together. While Maxime was incredibly tall and rather large, Minister Roux was a smaller man, both in height and weight. He wore heavy glasses and his long grey hair was tied at the nape of his neck. He looked bored sitting at the table, and he didn't offer the students a nod like the others had. Instead, he looked at Dumbledore, silently asking when this would all be over.

Izar took a liking to him.

"Rita Skeeter has been assigned to cover the Tournament this year. She will be overseeing the Weighing of the Wands."

"And hopefully some photos," Rita announced eagerly, winking rather suggestively toward Izar. "The camera is picky about who it loves, and it is rather favorable on one of the young Champions." Eyes turned to Izar and he remained sitting forward, almost bored, and taking a leaf from Roux's book. He would be damned if he allowed Rita _near _him with her camera.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, motioning for Ollivander to come forth. "Anything for you, Rita," Dumbledore agreed airily, placing his hand on the eerie looking Ollivander. "And may I present you all with the expert in wand making, Mr. Ollivander? He will be seeing to your wands today to make sure they are working properly for the Tournament." Blue eyes landed on the redheaded Beauxbatons Champion. "Mr. Beaumont, why don't you go first?"

Izar watched the proceedings in inquisitiveness. Ollivander seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to wands. He was able to tell the length, the wood, and the core even if he hadn't been the one to craft the wand itself. It was intriguing and Izar felt a bit of hope with his problems. Ollivander _must _know what Tom Riddle's wand is. After all, Izar was sure Riddle got his wand at Ollivanders when he was a young boy.

Cyprien Beaumont had a Veela hair core and Lukas Steinar, the Durmstrang Champion, had a Dragon heartstring core. It suited the Durmstrang Champion quite well, actually.

Izar shared a heated look with Lukas as the boy sat back down.

"Izar," Dumbledore motioned forward, his eyebrows heightened in interest.

Rising from his chair, Izar approached Ollivander, vividly remembering his first encounter with the man at the age of eleven. "Ah, Mr. Harrison," Ollivander seemed a bit more enthusiastic as he reached for Izar's wand. "I remember this particular wand very well. An eleven inch Indian rosewood, a hair of a rather stubborn and prideful Thestral." Izar refused to react when he felt Riddle's mocking eyes on him.

Ollivander's silver eyes studied Izar, a small smile spreading across the older man's lips. "I will say the same thing I said to you five years ago, Mr. Harrison. Your wand is remarkably unyielding and destined for _very_ great things."

The wand maker flicked Izar's wand, sending wine spitting from the top.

Dumbledore clapped merrily, thanking Ollivander. Before Izar could comprehend, everyone stood up and starting moving just as Ollivander was out the door. For being an older man, the wand maker could move fast. Rita was gathering everyone around for a photograph and Izar quickly slipped in the background before traveling out the door.

"Just _where _did that boy go?" Rita's voice followed Izar's heels as he hurriedly climbed the bit of stairs.

"Mr. Ollivander!" Izar yelled after the wand maker. The silver haired man paused, turning and eyeing Izar with curiosity as the Ravenclaw came to a stop before him. "Please, this may sound odd, but I was curious to know if you remembered every wand you ever sold?"

"Of course, my boy," Ollivander smiled mysteriously. "Every wand is ingrained in my mind. I always spend quality time with each wand before I sell it."

Izar wished he could have been talking to Ollivander under different circumstances. The man was fascinating and probably knew a great deal about wand cores. Perhaps Izar could discuss this situation in more depth if he found himself stuck on the Dark Mark. "Could you, perhaps, recall Tom Marvolo Riddle's wand core? I'm curious to know if his wand core is as talented as his character."

Ollivander's face darkened and his smile was forced. "I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison, but I'm afraid Mr. Riddle has asked for my word of confidentiality regarding his wand." The man frowned. "Odd, he just asked me to keep it private today, just before the ceremony started."

Izar turned cold.

Voldemort couldn't _possibly _know Izar was searching for his wand core, could he?

"I… thanks anyway, Mr. Ollivander," Izar spoke without really hearing himself.

He turned, wondering where to go from here.

"Izar," a voice rang from the top of the stairs.

Feeling his pulse begin to rise, charcoal-green eyes slowly looked up, locking eyes with sparkling charmed brown. Voldemort's lips were twitching as motioned Izar forward with a beckoning finger. "Come back inside, we must take one photo together, you, Headmaster Dumbledore, and I."

Feeling rather defeated at the moment, Izar gradually walked up the stairs. As his fingers brushed the wrinkled parchment in his pocket, he grew even more disheartened.

Things _had _to look up eventually.

Didn't they?


	11. Part I Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Hogsmeade was just like it was every time Izar went. Crowded, busy, and full of _rude_ people. This was exactly why Izar avoided Hogsmeade trips. His hood was drawn, covering his features as he swam through the crowd toward the Hogs Head. It anyone recognized him, he would have drawn attention and there would, most likely, be a few students following him to the Hogs Head. Students or even adults.

He hissed at the large woman as she elbowed him in the stomach. "Tuck your elbows in you when you waddle, you atrocious woman!" Izar growled, earning a sharp look from the witch.

He ducked beneath the crowd and finally made it to the dusty and frayed footstep of the Hogs Head. He was here, but was he ready?

Finding his reluctance ridiculous, Izar opened the door to the Hogs Head, listening to the familiar squeak it issued. He had been at the Hogs Head a few times before, finding an odd getaway within the old pub. Yes, the customers were rather dodgy, but that was good. Most students ran away from the pub as fast as they could. No rowdy students would be in here.

Aberforth Dumbledore was standing behind the counter, his sunken eyes watching Izar as he took off his hood. Once Izar's face was revealed, Aberforth allowed a small grin to cross his usually cranky features. But Aberforth wasn't the only one pleased to see him. A man sitting next to the door cooed vulgarly, his vile eyes tracing over Izar compulsively.

"'_lo_, poppet," the man whispered for only Izar to hear after chuckling. Looking sideways at the man slumped over a mug of alcohol, Izar found his attention on the man's smile. His teeth were rotten and his lips were chapped, the only feature Izar could see beneath the hood.

"Hello Aberforth," Izar greeted softly, pushing past the bum and walking gracefully toward the vacant bar. He refused to look at the rest of the bars' occupants, too silly to face his father. He would let Regulus approach him, not the other way around.

Izar tried to avoid brushing his only decent cloak on the ground. The floor was so filthy; it appeared as if the pub was built upon the earth itself. With the back of his hand, he wiped off the dust and dirt from the stool before settling down.

"Izar," Aberforth grunted, his hands busy wiping down a mug that had seen better days. Izar watched the movement of the dirty rag as it swung back and forth. "I heard you got yourself a bit of glory," the man mumbled something along the lines. It was a bit difficult to hear him past the heavy beard.

"Yes," Izar drawled. "Eternal glory."

The man's bright blue eyes rivaled his older brother's as he assessed Izar. "Not too happy about the selection, I suppose?"

Izar offered the man a small grin. "What gave it away?"

Aberforth gave a grunt, taking his polished, or, semi-polished mug, and poured a bit of butterscotch colored liquid in the mug. "Why don't you have a butterbeer, on me?" The older man slid the mug across the bar top, the liquid sloshing over the lip as Izar stopped it with the palm of his hand. He stared at the vaguely dirty mug, a bit surprised. Aberforth wasn't very well known for allowing free drinks to be passed around.

"No, no, I can pay for it…" he trailed off uncertainly, his hands going to his pockets. He knew he didn't have any money on him. Hell, _when _did he have money on him?

"Don't be silly," Aberforth growled, taking out another dirty glass to polish it. His rag was full of holes and evidence of the past dirty mugs. Izar had to remember that Madame Promfrey could cure upset stomachs if he ever caught something from drinking out of dirty glassware. "When you win your Tournament earnings you can pay me back in threefold."

Izar leaned forward, sipping on the foam at the top. It warmed his throat and eventually his body as it went down. He knew the first sip or two would probably be the only he would enjoy. Because he felt someone approach him from behind.

**Death of Today**

The photographs in the paper didn't do him any justice at all.

Regulus eyed Izar beneath his hood as his hand curled around his mug. The rings on his fingers tapped the glass and he leaned forward, hungry at the sight of his son. Instead of approaching Izar right away, he decided he would study his son from afar.

He noted rather quickly that Izar looked similar to him when he was that age. Rather, Izar held a lot of Black qualities. Despite their similar appearance at the young age of fifteen, Regulus found Izar far more flawless and beautiful. While Regulus had been a bit awkward and had many flaws, Izar all but _glowed_.

Their hair was similar; both inky black and waves that seemed to curl at the edges. Izar had the sharp Black facial appearance, the aristocratic features with the prominent cheekbones and the delicate and sharp jaw line. A straight nose was faultlessly situated over full lips. And the eyes… even from Regulus' position, he could see the shape was all Lily's. Almond shaped eyes, with a bit of vivid green crushed inside charcoal, his color.

By no means would Regulus say his son was feminine. It would be an insult to both himself and Izar. Instead, he would label Izar as a very stunning aristocrat.

As far as Izar's petite body stature went, Regulus had once been small for his age as well. He hit a growing spurt far later than his male classmates at the old age of eighteen.

Was it selfish of Regulus to be pleased that Izar took after him more than he did Lily? No. He had every right to feel proud at that fact. Izar even had the Black family grace. And from Regulus' location, he could hear the dry, cynical tone of his son. It wasn't something Regulus would have expected from someone with Izar's attractiveness. He would have thought, at least, that Izar would have a confident, if not arrogant tone.

He was amused to note his son's tone mimicked Severus Snape quite well.

There was a lot of his son that he didn't know about. Hell, he didn't know anything about Izar. Lily must have _had _to raise him. But then why was his surname 'Harrison'? Why did Izar wear robes that appeared as if they were second hand? And trainers that looked rather beaten up?

He took note of Izar's robes, noting the Ravenclaw colors. At first, Regulus experienced a quick twang of disappointment that Izar wasn't a Slytherin like the rest of his family. But his disappointment vanished when he thought back of how respected Ravenclaw was, how brilliant they were. Both Lily and Regulus could have done superb in Ravenclaw. After all, they both turned out to be Unspeakables, if only for a short time on Regulus' part.

Regulus stood up abruptly when he noticed the sleazebag near the door approach Izar from behind.

It had been many years since Regulus had interacted with _people _in general. He just hoped he would appear a bit dynamic with his son. He didn't want to disappoint or seem as rough as he felt.

**Death of Today**

Izar expected Regulus to come up from behind him. He did _not _expect the cold and greasy hand lingering on the back of his neck and the foul smell of unwashed body to encompass him. If this was Regulus, Izar would turn his heel from the pub and never look back.

His eyes flashed as he eyed the man pushing up close beside him. Luckily, it wasn't Regulus. Unluckily, it was the man who had been by the door, the very same one who had greeted him with a perverted smile. "Back up, Gorgon, he's only a school boy," Aberforth growled, his own face twisting with aversion.

Gorgon, the distorted man, wheezed and he pressed closer to Izar. He reached forward, running a finger down Izar's impassive face. "I just wanted to see if he wanted a bit of fun, Ab. Nothing to worry your head over." Oily eyes turned to Izar, who was gazing jadedly back at the man. "What do you say, pet," Gorgon leaned forward, his tongue licking his lips. "Want a bit of a 'toss?"

Gorgon's head was taken rather brutally by a hand. Before the man could comprehend the situation, his forehead was slammed viciously on to the bar. A bit of blood splattered on Izar and the counter as Gorgon slumped to the ground, out cold. Izar caught sight of the flashy heirloom ring on his savior's hand and knew instantly that it was Regulus Black.

Izar gave a deep sigh, trying to cover up his anxiety at finally meeting the man.

He wiped a bit of blood from his sleeve, mourning the stain on his decent robe. Finally, after gathering himself, he looked up at Regulus, finding himself gazing into the haunted eyes of his father. Izar had never seen another who shared his vivid eyes, but sitting there, he finally met the man who passed the color down to him. The pale and vivid charcoal clashed eerily with Regulus.

"Well," Izar started off a bit darkly. "At least you don't smell like body odor, but a bit of grooming wouldn't hurt."

One word that really fit Regulus was _rough _and wayward. The man probably was an aristocrat under all that facial hair, but Izar was distracted by the distrustful way Regulus carried himself and the haunted look on his face. The goatee wasn't at all bad looking. It was short, but it clashed with Regulus' high cheekbones and refined features. And one thing Izar _did _learn from Daphne was that aristocrats didn't look good with facial hair.

She would probably be chasing Regulus around with a razor spell if she was here, gasping at the mere _waste _Regulus' good features were going through underneath the facial hair.

Regulus' grim lips gave a bit of a grin as he stroked his goatee. On his index and middle finger, a ring flashed back at Izar. "I usually don't grow a beard or allow my hair to grow long, but it disguises me a bit." His voice was unused, Izar noted. His own voice grew raspy when he didn't talk to many people for a long period of time.

"You mean people will mistake you for your brother."

It was true. Despite the fact Regulus was more of a member of the aristocracy and had a smaller chest and shoulder span, he did appear a bit like Sirius with all the _hair_. The hair fell to his shoulders in tight waves; the same length Sirius wore it.

Regulus abruptly took Izar's face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. The man then took Izar in his arms, clutching him to his chest. "I cannot make myself shake hands with a son I have forever lost." Regulus whispered harshly in Izar's ear. "Forgive me, my child."

This was going against everything Izar had imagined. He would have thought Regulus would appear healthy and smug. He would have thought Regulus would start off with a formal handshake or nothing at all. He didn't expect to see a man who looked as if he had been on the run, or in hiding, and he certainly didn't expect his first hug to be from his long-lost father.

Izar sat there stiffly, unsure of the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Then you must forgive me for not trusting you yet," Izar murmured back, feeling Regulus slowly pull away.

Regulus' face was impassive as he ushered Izar off the stool, away from prying eyes. "You must have heard about me," Regulus started the conversation as soon as they settled at the table in the corner. Izar sat rigidly, wishing he had brought his butterbeer with him. "You didn't react as I thought you would when I called you 'son'. Lily must have told you then." Regulus' face darkened and a smile crossed his face. The smile wasn't comforting in the least, revealing another side of the man that Izar had yet to see. It was a dark, cruel side, very familiar in Bellatrix's face. "I can only imagine the lies she spread about me. I wonder why you even bothered to meet me here."

He then looked around the pub, an almost frantic look on his face when he thought Lily would spring out with Dumbledore, or perhaps, Voldemort.

Izar sat back against the chair, frowning at the roughed up table before looking back up at Regulus. The man really didn't know. Anything.

With a bitter smile, Izar leaned forward. "Lily didn't raise me. In fact, I have never talked to her." Izar lied, just a small lie. He scowled. "I was raised in a filthy Muggle orphanage."

Regulus' expression crumbled into weariness and he ran a hand down his face, in order to hide the vulnerability, or in order to give himself comfort. Charcoal eyes opened, pinning Izar with a passionate look. "Then how did you know about her? About me?" Regulus gave a sigh. "I don't understand why she did this…"

Izar ignored the last bit, glaring at the stubbed candle in the middle of the table. "I was thirteen when I brewed a heredity potion." He grinned humorlessly. "I wanted to find my Muggle parents, perhaps track down their path, see if they were still living. Imagine my surprise when I found out someone put a block on my lineage. No matter how many times I brewed that potion, I realized that either my father or mother was magical and they didn't want me to find out about them." His eyes pinned Regulus with a stare.

"I stopped caring who my parents were when I believed my father was just a pure-blood wizard who laid with a Muggle. He must have been embarrassed about his bastard son and gave him away to a Muggle orphanage after erasing my lineage. Rather ironic that it turned out that _was _the case."

Regulus slammed his fists on the table, easily knocking down the candle that stood between them. With a dangerous glint in his eye, Regulus leaned forward, his lips drawn into a sneer. "That is _not _what happened, damnit." He breathed deeply through his nose before reaching forward to take Izar's hand with his own. "You must know that I had no knowledge of your existence. She lied, she betrayed, she was and is a cruel _bitch_. The only reason I found you is because of the _Prophet_. Your picture… you look similar to me when I was a boy. And your age fit exactly…"

"Where were you?" Izar asked bitterly. "Everyone thinks you're dead. Lord Voldemort thinks you're dead. How can you fool them?"

Regulus looked around the pub before pulling up his left sleeve. Izar's eyes widened when he witnessed Regulus' blemish-free skin.

"I'm not a Death Eater," Regulus whispered quietly. "My family was very loyal to the Dark Lord and I did many favors for him and his cause as a young boy. I was never Marked right away. He didn't Mark children still in Hogwarts." Regulus' face clouded with the past memories. "I betrayed him, yes, but that is another story entirely, a story Lily participated in just as much as I. Severus Snape was ordered to kill me. After all, the Dark Lord was too important to kill a lowly wizard himself."

Izar sucked in a breath, realizing. "Professor Snape betrayed the Dark Lord's order? He made everyone believe he killed you and allowed you to run? Is he really disloyal to the Dark Lord?"

Regulus eyed him a bit suspiciously. "Severus is still loyal to the Dark Lord. However, he and I shared a friendship that surpassed even his loyalty to the Dark Lord. He made me promise to stay away from Britain and never show my face again. I moved to one of the Black estates in Russia and closed all other Black properties around Britain. But I can't possibly stay away when I have found I have a son. A son who was raised by _Muggles._" Regulus sneered, his eyes flashing. "Even if I am not wanted by the Ministry, I cannot show my face because Severus would be in great danger."

Regulus sat back, his eyes focused intensely on Izar as the Ravenclaw tried to sink in all the information offered to him. "But what I want to know," Regulus continued softly, a slight protective bite in his tone. "Is how you found out about Lily and me if your lineage was blocked?"

Izar knew it would come down to this. It was better if Regulus knew now than later. It already seemed as if the man had his suspicions. "My second cousin had the decency to provide me with the information. She told me she witnessed your pathetic affair with Lily…"

Regulus' eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, his jaw clenched. "And how did you get in contact with Bellatrix? The last I knew, she was wanted for questioning by the Ministry and chose to stay in hiding." Charcoal eyes glanced at Izar's left arm. "How did you get in contact with her, Izar?"

"Do you even have to ask if you already know?" Izar spat bitterly. "I'm claimed by the Dark Lord. I met her during my initiation not even a month ago. It was there were she rubbed it in my face that I had…not only a mother who lived but also a father."

Regulus gave a bitter laugh. "The Dark Lord is Marking rather young, isn't he? He must be feeling a bit pinched with the lack of followers."

Izar remained silent, feeling a slight twinge in his Mark. His eyes glanced outside, through the foggy and dirty windows. It was there where he saw the Dark Lord approaching the Hogs Head.

_Bloody hell. _

Izar quickly turned to Regulus. "I think you should go back to Russia. I am loyal to the Dark Lord, Regulus, but I will commit this _one _act of betrayal because I have a bit of fondness for Severus Snape and a grudging respect for you. I appreciate your attempt to include me in your life, but I don't need you or Lily. I have raised myself since a mere child, I can handle myself."

Regulus shook his head, his face stubborn. Right then, Izar saw himself in the man. "I cannot do that, Izar."

Izar stood up. He reached across the table at Regulus, pulling forward the man's hood. He covered the man's features, feeling as if he were parting ties with his ideal image of a father. "Then you would be risking not only your own life, but Severus' and mine as well." Izar allowed his fingers to linger on Regulus' cheek just for a moment before pulling away.

A hand gripped his wrist, holding him back. "You are _my _child—"

"I'm doing this for your own safety… bow your head and don't get up to follow me." Izar pleaded softly. Regulus frowned, but his fingers let Izar go.

Izar crossed the room to the bar just as the door opened to the pub. If possible, the atmosphere in the pub grew considerably darker and a bit colder. Izar sat on the bar stool, glancing behind his shoulder and noticing instantly that the Dark Lord did not have his glamour up. The man's magic all but screamed gleefully as it wrapped icily around the wizards in the pub. The men hugged their alcohol closer, hunching in on themselves and avoiding eye contact with the stranger who had just entered.

Izar didn't think he could ever get used to the Dark Lord's magic. It sent exhilarating thrills down his back, reminding him that he was associating with a Master of deceit and power… a man that did not form bonds with anyone and instead used people in his own personal game of chess. It probably thrilled many Death Eaters, hence the reason they followed such a cruel and ruthless man. They believed he could bring them the same power and fame Voldemort held himself.

Izar wasn't a fool to believe all that. He followed Voldemort because of the man's cause. And because he _enjoyed _watching Voldemort play his game.

He was a bit curious to know what Regulus had done to betray the Dark Lord if the man hadn't even been a Death Eater. But Izar knew when to ask and when to listen. He would not give any inclination to the Dark Lord that he was thinking about Regulus. In fact, Izar attempted to clear his mind of the meeting with his father as best he could. He sent a silent prayer to Merlin, hoping Regulus would go by undetected.

From the corner of his eye, Izar watched as the black cloak of Voldemort leaned against the pub counter, barely a few feet away. Izar cupped his hands around the lukewarm butterbeer, trying to keep his eyes away from the Dark Lord. It was difficult, especially because he felt the red eyes roaming the side of his face.

The man chuckled darkly as Izar's lips twitched into a grin.

"How much for the room above? I only need an hour at the most." Voldemort's voice, a bit different from his politician voice, came out in a polite, but menacing hiss.

Aberforth looked between Izar and the Dark Lord, his expression reading nonchalance. "One Galleon," Aberforth's eyebrows rose as he watched the Dark Lord take out his velvet money pouch and slide a golden Galleon on the bar.

The pub owner took the Galleon, biting on it once before taking out a key from his pocket and presenting it to the Dark Lord. Izar set his mug down as he felt the cool touch of the Dark Lord on the back of his neck. "You, child, are going to accompany me."

Sliding off his stool, Izar followed the Dark Lord's tall frame out the pub and into the closed space of the stairwell. Before he disappeared, he could feel Regulus' eyes trail after him.

_Don't think about that… _

"Why am I not surprised to find you here?" Voldemort started. Izar didn't comment, he only watched as the Dark Lord fit the key in the rusty lock and opened the door. No good could come out of this visit, Izar wasn't dense.

Once the door slammed shut and locked behind them, Voldemort turned, lowering his hood. As Izar predicted, the Dark Lord's glamour was down, revealing his flawless pale skin and brilliant red eyes. His straight black hair was tied to the nape of his neck, bringing attention to his cheekbones.

"I want you to get on your knees," Voldemort's voice was no longer amused, only cold. Izar expected as much after his Mark had been burning ever since last week. The man was angry, and apparently, Izar would find out _why _shortly.

He went down to his knees, finding it difficult to stop his mind from thinking of the dirt and dust staining his robes. But now shouldn't be the time to think of such things, not when Voldemort was angry.

Izar bent his back as well, knowing that the Dark Lord didn't just want Izar on his knees. He wanted a formal bow and Izar would get in position before the man could ask. "This is meant to remind you that you are _submissive _to me." The Dark Lord's polished boots were in front of Izar's face. He closed his eyes, trying to picture himself somewhere other than here. "Sometimes, I can't help but to think that you believe you have footing over me."

"I never think that, My Lord," Izar replied passively. He wondered where the Dark Lord got that notion.

"Even so, I want you to stay in this position until I tell you to get up."

The man was sadistic. Izar's jaw clenched as he imagined himself in a log cabin in the mountains. He was just doing yoga in the early morning, away from everyone who made his head hurt. He was miles, upon miles away from all his problems.

"I can't think of any reason for you to doubt my standings, My Lord. I have done nothing—"

"Exactly." The man replied shortly. "You have done _nothing_."

Izar frowned, placing his forehead on the dusty ground. "Then forgive me, My Lord."

A chuckle was heard and Voldemort shifted until he was crouching down in front of Izar. His long fingered hand swept through Izar's hair, tugging lightly on the strands. "Do you even know what you are asking forgiveness for, Izar?"

"No," Izar muttered, glaring at the floor in front of him. The Dark Lord always seemed to have a multiple personality disorder. Perhaps worse off than Sirius Black.

"Look up at me, Izar," Voldemort commanded.

Offering the ground another glare, Izar cleared his face as he lifted his head, staring at the Dark Lord in the eye. The man smirked, reaching out to brush his thumb across Izar's forehead, wiping the dust that settled there. "I have to admit, Izar, that if things would have turned out differently for me, I would have been a lot like you. Shadows, skipping meals in order to avoid attention, absorbing knowledge instead of socializing… and if things would have turned out differently for you, I wouldn't have cared that you are doing these things."

Izar had a hunch he knew this was going. And he did _not _like it.

"Alas, things couldn't be that way for me. I had a goal in mind, a goal to become a very influential politician and a powerful Dark Lord. I couldn't become one with the shadows and allow time to pass so…_uselessly_." Izar hated the hand on his face, clutching him so possessively. "I want you to start following in my footsteps. At _least _attend meals in the Great Hall, you foolish boy. Do you have any idea how you are portraying Britain by _hiding_? You are representing Hogwarts poorly."

"I am not hiding—,"

"Silence," Voldemort hissed, his fingers clutching Izar's jaw tightly. "Whatever you'd like to call it, you are hiding away when I want you thrust into the public eye. If you were any other wizard, I wouldn't care of your habits. However, you are a wizard I want people to take note of. I want you to start showing your face around the school and I want you to start socializing. Not only because you are Champion of Hogwarts, but also for your future. As I stated earlier, I want you to follow in my footsteps. You are to become a prominent figure in the political world. A force many wizards will become wary of and respectful of."

"But… My Lord, I wish to remain an Unspeakable."

Split-crimson eyes narrowed and the fingers tightened. "The last I remembered, the Mark on your arm symbolizes your loyalty to me and not the Ministry, correct?" He didn't wait for Izar to reply. "You will be, what I want you to be."

"As My Lord _requests _it," Izar hissed cynically.

Voldemort laughed, his fingers dropping from Izar's jaw before he stood up. "I always enjoy your sharp tongue, Izar. And while it needs to be watched carefully around me, I do find good humor in it at times." The man walked over to the dirt-caked window, staring out. "Experimenting is where your pleasure lies, Izar, I will not pull you away from your enjoyment. However, I will also expect you to be known throughout Britain by important wizarding circles."

Izar gave a light sigh, feeling a bit better that the Dark Lord wasn't going to demand his absence with the Unspeakables. "I understand what you want of me, My Lord, yet, I am not good at speaking." He watched as Voldemort turned from the window and back to him. "I _hate _people."

The Dark Lord looked highly amused at Izar. "Do you think_ I_ enjoy people, little one?" Dark eyebrows rose. "You are a Black; Blacks are bred to dance politically." Izar glowered deeply at the Dark Lord. "I apologize," Voldemort continued, not at all remorseful. "I promised I wouldn't mention that, didn't I?"

"It looks as if you'd forgotten," Izar replied scornfully. The man had promised, at his initiation, that he wouldn't mention Izar being a Black. Apparently the man found humor in the situation instead, much to Izar's pleasure.

The Dark Lord waved his hand dismissingly. "You can start slowly; engage your classmates in conversation. Think of it as a game, you enjoy mind games, don't you, Izar? Find their weakness, and exploit them, learn everything there is to know of them. Play with them." It sounded less than entertaining to Izar and Voldemort read his expression easily. "I will help you through it. There won't be much time this year, I will bring you to the Ministry gatherings after this year."

"After this year?" Izar repeated suspiciously. "You're planning to come out, aren't you? You're going to reveal to the world that there is a Dark Lord Voldemort, correct?"

He was still bent in his bow and Voldemort was cruel enough to keep Izar in that position. "Lord Voldemort is going to announce himself, yes. Tom Riddle, on the other hand, is still going to continue _just _being a politician." The man withheld anymore clues or hints as to when he would step out to the world and Izar knew better than to pester. "You may stand."

Izar calmly stood up, brushing off the dust on his robes. His joints cracked from being in a kneeling position too long.

"There is another reason I brought you up here," Voldemort walked forward, almost a bounce in his step. Izar narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I have a project for you." The man started to circle Izar predatorily. "It will take your mind off other…" Voldemort paused, raising his wand. Izar's eyes narrowed on the object, feeling himself jolt at the sight of his current obsession. "_Disobedient_ projects you have in that mind of yours."

And to make the situation worse, Voldemort set his wand against Izar's cheek, slowly drawing it down the Ravenclaw's jaw line. That man was a bloody _bastard_. Izar tried not to think of the wand on his cheek, glaring into the taunting crimson eyes of Voldemort. It was settled then. The Dark Lord, somehow, knew of Izar's plan to find out his wand core.

Briefly, Izar wondered how long Voldemort would torture him if he were to reach out and grab the man's wand. It was just one little spell and Izar would know the core.

"What project do you have in mind for me, My Lord?" Izar asked shortly, sniffing and trying to pretend the wand didn't mean anything to him.

"I want a portkey." Voldemort removed his wand with one last sharp tap against Izar's cheek. "Not so much a portkey, but I want this device, this invention you invent, to be small and undetectable. I want it to be able to stick to another object, a bigger object someone can grab hold of."

"So basically, you want small portkey to attach to something that can't be made into a portkey?" Izar questioned, a bit bemused.

"Exactly," Voldemort gave a sharp nod. "It will be, in all honesty, like a portkey. However, I want it to be small and to be able to stick onto things. I also want it to be a timer of sorts. I want this portkey to transport to its desired location with a touch of a hand. But the hand won't be touching this small portkey."

"You know," Izar drawled. "This would be a lot easier if you just told me the situation you're going to use it with."

He shut up as the Dark Lord sent him a warning stare. "It will be used during raids. For example, if I was in the Ministry, I would touch your invention. It would portkey me away to a location where my Death Eaters await. I want this portkey to be able to transport all said army _back _to the Ministry without them having to touch the portkey. After all, how could my whole army crowd around and touch a portkey? It wouldn't be possible."

"I see," Izar nodded; his mind racing. It would be relatively easy, he would just need to shrink a portkey and make it a self-timer as it transported a group of living beings within a radius. "There are restrictions, of course. How big would you like the radius to be? How long would you like the timer for? Will the Death Eaters be in position before the portkey arrives? And the location? Where would you like it to be set for?"

Voldemort's lips quirked. "The radius should be large enough to transport the Death Eaters. But for this portkey, I will only expect a five meter radius. As for the timer, lets set it for twenty seconds, no more, no less. The location? Please make it possible for _me _to set the location." His eyes took in Izar. "Do you think you can handle this? If not, I can ask another—,"

"No," Izar interrupted quickly, insulted. "I can do it just fine."

The Dark Lord nodded. "I meant no insult, I was only curious if you could complete the project with the Tournament hanging over your head as well."

Izar gave a dry shrug. "If I find myself short on time, I will come to you, My Lord, and inform you. But I believe I can complete it before Christmas holidays." He lifted his chin confidently, enjoying the pleased look crossing the Dark Lord's face.

"Good," Voldemort motioned toward the door. "I will let you go. Enjoy the rest of your Hogsmeade visit."

Izar gave a stiff bow at his waist before turning to the door. Before he could safely make it out, Voldemort's voice stopped him. "By the way, Izar, who was that man you were speaking with at the pub earlier?"

Izar knew his heart stopped just then. "W-what man, My Lord?" He regained his voice easily, even if he had faltered at the beginning.

"That man… with the hood... I believe he was out cold near your stool when I arrived."

Izar turned back around, relieved. His expression remained schooled as he looked at the equally expressionless Voldemort. Before he could speak, the man continued. "Who did you think I was speaking of? Certainly you didn't think I would be asking after the man in the corner with the Black family ring on his finger, yes?"

After a moment of composing his reactions, Izar looked away from the red eyes, snorting. "That was Sirius Black, actually," he murmured in a bit of repugnance. "I thought it would benefit me if I asked him to help me with dueling this year. A bit of one on one action, I mean, because I'm not too good at it. I thought, with the Tournament and all, I would need a bit more help." He stumbled, clearly, but he showed no signs that he had struggled.

Voldemort gave an interested sound in his throat, his eyebrows shooting up. The red eyes surveying him showed no yielding. Izar _knew_ the man didn't believe him. "Dueling, hmm?" Voldemort continued to humor him. "That _is _a rather smart move on your part, especially with what you need to do in the Second Task." Although Voldemort was playing with Izar, and humoring him, the Ravenclaw wondered how the man knew it was Regulus he was speaking with earlier.

Izar nodded, realizing he wasn't breathing. At the moment, Voldemort didn't _appear _angry about the lie Izar made about Regulus, but the Dark Lord was schooling his features and his magic quite expertly. It made Izar wonder if Voldemort knew it was Regulus in the pub or if the man just had his suspicious.

The Dark Lord had his hands clasped behind his back, blinking at Izar. "Well then, I suppose you should go finish your discussion with Professor Black and set up a schedule with him."

Izar nodded again, stupidly, as he opened the door to leave. With a cautious step, he made it safely out the door and into the hallway without a hex to his back. He paused, turning back to look at the Dark Lord. The man was still standing motionless, smiling thinly at Izar.

Without wasting another moment, Izar turned and fled from the room, hoping he wouldn't be feeling a Cruciatus curse at his back.

As he made it down to the lobby, he thankfully noticed Regulus was no where in sight.

The only problem?

Izar would need to actually ask Sirius Black for assistance with dueling.

And… he should probably _beg _Severus Snape to help him with Occlumency. But then again, Voldemort once admitted that he didn't enter one's mind gently. He entered minds painfully and Izar hadn't felt anything, not even a tickle, enter his mind.

Izar had a hunch that the man was just _that _good. No one could hide anything from the Dark Lord. Well, Severus Snape was an exception. After all, he was able to fake Regulus' death without Voldemort being none the wisest.

…Or was he?


	12. Part I Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"Mr. Harrison," Sirius attempted to give a smile, but it came out as a grimace. "Come in," the man stepped aside, inviting a still shell-shocked Izar to enter. He had just come from Hogs Head. And Sirius was his first stop.

The Defense professor shut the door behind him, clearing his throat and walking stiffly to his desk. Izar stood laboriously, wondering why the hell he was here again. "Professor," Izar started, reminding himself that this was _needed_. He not only needed to keep appearances up with the lie he told Voldemort, which, by the way, didn't work very well, but he also needed to step his ability up in the art of dueling. "I was wondering if you could assist me with dueling."

Sirius sat behind his desk, his face expressionless. "We plan to work on dueling the rest of the term, Mr. Harrison."

Izar studied his uncle, pleased to note the man had finally gotten himself under control within the week they first met. "Actually, professor, I needed extra help in dueling. Perhaps a one on one tutorage. If it's any trouble, I can ask someone else to assist me."

Grey eyes looked up at him. "That won't be necessary; I am here to help my students." Sirius offered a true smile. It dipped into a curious frown. "Is your wand, perhaps, a Thestral core?"

Izar frowned, taken off guard. "Yes, professor." He didn't see any problem telling the man this. After all, it would be published in the _Prophet _eventually. Rita had taken notes at the Weighing of the Wand ceremony yesterday.

Sirius nodded as if Izar's answer was all he needed in solving a big mystery. "I have a Thestral wand core, as did my brother and my parents before me." Charcoal eyes studied Izar's expression, trying to gouge any clues. "It ran in the Black family. Even my cousin has a Thestral wand core."

Izar gave an interested nod, trying to appear jaded on the outside. Yet, he was a bit interested. The whole lot of Black family had Thestral cores? It was very intriguing. Perhaps Izar could find out if wand cores _did _run in families and then research or ask Ollivander what Riddle's ancestor's had as their core.

"Ollivander once joked that the he would need to reserve a whole Thestral just for the generations of Blacks." Sirius chuckled darkly as his hands played with his black feathered quill, yet his eyes were drinking in Izar almost fervently.

"Do wand cores usually run in families, sir?" Izar questioned, pretending he had no idea why Sirius Black was gossiping about the Black family.

Sirius raised his eyebrows, turning the question around in his head. "No, but the Blacks are an exception to that case." Izar's eyes dropped to Sirius' fingers, searching for a Black ring. Even if a member of the family wasn't declared the 'heir' of the family, they would still receive a ring with the family crest.

Sirius' fingers were naked.

Izar thought it was a pity. Sirius was Light, yet he could be a rather useful ally to the Dark.

"When would you like to schedule our lessons?" Sirius skillfully averted Izar's gaze away from his fingers and back on his face. "It's a pity you don't play Quidditch. Even if it was cancelled this year for the Tournament, I'm sure you would have made an excellent Seeker. My brother, Regulus, was a Seeker once—,"

"You know, sir, you aren't very subtle." Izar drawled, too tired to play ignorant with Sirius Black. Maybe the man wouldn't be a very good ally to the Dark after all, not if he was as subtle as a bull in a China shop. "If you want to ask me something then _ask_, don't try to use your feeble manipulation on me. It doesn't work very well for Gryffindors like you."

Sirius had the decency to look a bit abashed. "Are you related to him?" He asked softly.

"Related to _whom_?"

Charcoal eyes looked up at him, tired. "My brother," Sirius whispered, a bit brokenly.

Izar stared at the man sitting across from him, noticing how much toll this was taking on Sirius. Hopefully Regulus was on his way back to his safe home in Russia. If that was the case, Voldemort wouldn't be able to really prove his suspicions that Regulus was alive. It also meant that Snape wouldn't be in danger and Izar could go back to being oblivious about his parentage. He was willing to throw away the prospect of a father if it meant keeping parties alive.

Because even Izar would admit to himself, Regulus was a very captivating man. He was smart and dangerous, and already protective. Izar was ashamed to admit that his hopes at having a father had soared in the Hog's Head.

But Izar had raised himself his whole life. He didn't need a man who had baggage, who hadn't even bothered to sniff his trail of the woman he had slept with, just in case they became pregnant. And Izar still hadn't heard the full story of Regulus' betrayal and Lily's betrayal.

"No," Izar lied. "Both my mother and father were Muggles. They died in a car crash when I was five years old. I still remember them, actually. I looked a lot like my mother."

Instead of relieved, as Izar thought Sirius would be, the man actually looked disappointed. His quill snapped in half and he gazed unblinkingly at the parchment in front of him. "I apologize; it was silly of me to ask. Regulus died when he just graduated from Hogwarts. He wouldn't have had any children at such a young age. But you look very similar to him…" _and me… _

Izar tried to offer Sirius a sympathetic smile, but it came out horribly. Sirius cleared his throat again, sitting up.

"We better squeeze in a time for you. I know you have the Tournament that takes up most your time, but I'm sure we can schedule a night or two during the week." Sirius grabbed his agenda and flipped through the days. "Do Wednesdays and Fridays sound alright?" Grey eyes looked up at Izar. "Around seven?"

"Seven sounds perfect," Izar nodded, his fingers subconsciously playing with the hem of his sleeves. "Thanks again for helping me with dueling, professor."

Sirius nodded, his face still carved of grief. "I've noticed, in class this week, that you have trouble with dueling. I thought you of all people would excel in dueling. However, I _do _see the ability you harbor. You just _think _too much. You overanalyze your next move when it should be second nature. You have decent reflexes and the spells you do cast are very advanced and appropriate for the situation." Sirius paused, cocking his head. "What goes through your mind when you duel? What are you thinking?"

Izar looked above Sirius' head at the bookcase. "My mind gives me a list of certain spells and hexes I can cast. I have to go through each one and analyze their affects before I can cast one." It was a bit embarrassing to admit it, especially when Sirius had noticed Izar's lack of dueling skills.

The man chuckled, adding a bit of insult to injury. "I suppose many people would be envious of that." Sirius stood up, leaning his hands on the desk as he gazed at Izar. "You should speak the first spell that your mind gives you instead of making a mental list of them in your head."

"The first spell?" Izar repeated a bit horrified. "But… there could be other hexes that may be better suited for the duel than the first spell thought of."

"There is no right or wrong answer in dueling, Izar. It's about reflexes and speed. You can cast the tickling charm at your opponent throughout the course of the duel and still come out as the victor as long as you have speed and logic. But with you, you have a wider variety of spells. You have the reflexes; you just need to think on your feet." Sirius smiled. "I'll work with you on it. There is no need to worry; you'll be a top dueler within no time."

Izar allowed a thin smile to cross his face. "Thank you again, Professor." He backed up from the desk under the watchful gaze of Sirius. "I'll see you this Wednesday then."

"Tuesday, in class," Sirius corrected, a haunted smile gracing his bearded face. Izar was vividly reminded of Regulus just then.

"Tuesday," Izar nodded sharply and left the classroom.

It was a great effort on his behalf not to look back and meet the contemplative eyes of his uncle.

**Death of Today**

Izar took a deep breath as he approached the Great Hall for dinner. The students should all be back from the Hogsmeade trip, filling their sugar-coated bellies with a decent and balanced meal Hogwarts had to offer.

He paused outside the door, his fingers brushing across the aged-old wood. Voldemort had all but threatened Izar today about attending school meals, to actually show his face and…and _socialize_. Izar shuddered, rolling his eyes in the back of his head. He hated speaking. He hated people. And although Izar had heard Voldemort just fine today, he would make the Dark Lord pull Izar by the ear in order to make him a dancing politician. He could handle a few students, but there was no way in hell he would turn out like those men and women he had glowered at during his first Ministry ball.

This would be his first public appearance since his name was called from the Goblet, save for classes. Daphne had reassured Izar that there were students who supported him, but he found it hard to believe. After all, no one even knew who he was.

He stepped out from the shadows and cautiously entered the Great Hall. He did his best to set his shoulders and raise his chin without looking like a bloody egotistical pure-blood.

The few students who did take note of his presence weren't kind enough to keep it to themselves. They leaned over to whisper to their neighbors, spreading a wildfire of rumors and gossip around the Hall. Izar snorted, his steps slow and calculated as he passed the eager Ravenclaw table and made his way to the Slytherins. From the corner of his eye, he saw a few Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students littered around the hall. Hopefully Lukas, the Durmstrang Champion, wouldn't be at the Slytherin table.

It wasn't against the rules for Hogwarts students to sit with the other Houses and it wasn't frowned upon— it just wasn't practiced very often. Especially another table paired with Slytherins. Slytherins usually kept to themselves and the Ravenclaw, Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs respected that distance. But Izar was still wary around his own House. And they would do nothing but hammer him with questions tonight. Slytherins would be more reserved, even if they _were _curious. They would keep most their curiosity contained underneath a knowing smirk.

Izar sometimes felt as if he were meant to be Sorted into Slytherin. While it _was _an option, he believed Ravenclaw got him where he was today.

"Izar," a breathless whisper crossed the hall. A petite blond stood up, a smile crossing her poised features.

Daphne looked stunning as ever, even when she was dressed in her plain Slytherin robes. She always carried herself with dignity and grace. A selfless smile creased the corners of her green eyes as she walked around the Slytherin table and greeted Izar with her arm.

Izar looped her arm in his, allowing her to lead him to the Slytherin table. The Snakes gazed at him coolly, if appreciatively, a blue band across a few of their forearms declaring their support for him. How very… _flattering_.

Izar sat down with the Slytherins, his Ravenclaw blue robes clashing among the sea of green. He glanced up at the Head Table, meeting eyes with an approved Dark Lord. Voldemort raised his goblet to Izar and sipped, all the while keeping his gaze on him.

Izar looked away, feeling irked. Of _course_ the Dark Lord would be pleased Izar was here, especially with the Slytherin table, _his _House. No matter if Severus Snape was declared the Head of House for the Slytherins, Voldemort would always hold more sway over the students than the potion master did. Izar could already see the looks the students were flashing the Dark Lord. Their gazes were full of admiration and desperation, hoping to be noticed by Voldemort.

They were pitiable in Izar's eyes. They would never be noticed by Voldemort. Did they not _understand _that? They were lowly wizards for the Dark Lord's amusement; they were numbers, just a mere figure on a field, whether that was the chessboard or battlefield. They weren't held in favor of the Dark Lord. Especially if they were the third tier to his circle. Even if they were granted with a gold mask, an inner circle position, they would still be considered a mere amusement.

Granted, they would be noticed considerably more than the third tier, and perhaps that's what they just wanted. Notice. Izar had to put himself in their position. Even if he enjoyed the shadows, he was confident enough with himself to admit that he was thrilled whenever the Dark Lord gave him attention. If he was one of the students, of the third tier, he would also desire Voldemort's attention.

It was pathetic. But that was also what made a powerful and influential Dark Lord. One had to be noticeable and lusted after.

And a Dark Lord also had to be smart and all knowing.

Izar swallowed, staring down at his empty plate. He just prayed to Merlin that the Dark Lord was just suspicious of Regulus' presence and not confident. Things would be hell if Voldemort knew. However, Voldemort could be just sitting there, enjoying the game he was playing with Izar.

Charcoal-green eyes glanced back up at Voldemort, watching as the Dark Lord gave another gleeful smile. It was far from comforting and all horrifying.

"He seems oddly happy tonight," Daphne observed their interaction. "He was peeved for most the week as of late." She rubbed her left forearm inconspicuously. Izar caught the action, still wondering at Daphne's status as a Death Eater. It shouldn't have surprised him. Her father was a very wealthy and influential man and no doubt a follower to the Dark Lord.

Izar caught a few hostile stares from the Slytherins. He raised and eyebrow at them, not at all threatened.

"Don't pay any attention to them," Daphne patted Izar's arm comfortingly while throwing poisonous looks at her classmates. "They're just jealous that _he _pays attention to true talent." She announced loud enough for most the Slytherins to hear. They turned away, their attention on their meal in front of them.

Izar noted they were the ones who didn't have an armband supporting him.

He sensed a spark of magic and turned toward the flicker, locking eyes with stormy grey. Draco was sitting a few spots away, his left arm free of the band. Izar usually didn't sense a very strong aura from Draco, but tonight was a bit more noticeable. He was angry and that's what made his magic stir the air. Despite his hostility, his face was completely frozen.

Distinctively, Izar remembered the blonde had wanted to be declared Hogwarts' Champion.

Daphne piled vegetables on his plate, he hardly noticed as he focused on Draco. "I didn't put my name in the Goblet," he said quietly. Why did he think he owed an explanation to Draco, his distant cousin?

Draco's eyes narrowed and he stiffly turned his shoulder on Izar. "It was meant to be me." A haughty look passed his features. "You are overrated. There is nothing special about you."

"I could say the same about you," Izar hissed back. A few Slytherins snickered, their expressions varying from disinterest despite their eavesdropping to naked impressiveness. What did they think? He needed Daphne to pick his fights for him? He lifted his chin, eyeing Draco warily.

Draco sniffed, standing up abruptly and sending his goblet sprawling with the back of his hand. It echoed across the Slytherin table, its contents spraying across Izar and the neighboring Slytherins. They made noises of disagreement, glaring at Draco, but it was nothing compared to the raw hurt and anger across Draco's face. The boy was furious, utterly. The Malfoy heir's nostrils flared and his eyes dilated with anger.

"_Toujours Pur," _Draco hissed, his cheeks flushed. _"Toujours Pur,"_ he repeated again, his French flawless and thick. Izar stiffed, fluent himself in French and knowing exactly what it stood for. "It means 'Always Pure'." Draco's smile twisted humorlessly.

Izar noted the dark circles under the boy's eyes. He also noticed Sirius making an appearance in the Great Hall. The man was about to sit, but the familiar French translation no doubt rang through his mind. The Ravenclaw stiffened, his joints taut. Surely Draco wouldn't…

Draco laughed. "It's the Black family motto. Always Pure. And do you know what? That will _never _apply to you." Izar shook his head, not in answer, but a warning for Draco to shut up. "You're a filthy mudblood." Voices of agreement danced across part of the Slytherin table, consisting of most the older Slytherins. Despite the fact that Draco continued on a quieter voice, there were others who overheard him. "I have no idea why my father and _he _kiss your arse. But you will always, _always _be dirty. You will never be pure and respected because you are vile. You are _scum_. It doesn't matter who your father—,"

Izar was up within seconds despite Daphne's hold on his arm. Magic probably would have been more efficient and quicker, but he didn't trust himself with his wand. A Dark curse would have come out, and Izar didn't want to deal with those consequences.

It took him one step on the Slytherin dinner table before he lunged off. Draco's eyes widened as Izar collided with him, sending them both to the ground. The Hall exploded with noise of excitement, mainly from the Gryffindor table. The Slytherins remained seated and quiet, their shoulders stiff. Despite some of the students' support for Izar, they wouldn't interfere. Slytherins stayed united in public. And if they couldn't all decide on one side, they would remain neutral.

"Shut up," Izar hissed, lying on top of Draco. He held the boy by the shoulders with a vice-like grip. Looking down at Draco, he observed again how emotionally unstable the boy appeared. The blonde's eyes were deranged and exhausted, confused and irate. Draco must have been going through something… something _big _to act out in public like this. Malfoys would _never _create a scene. "You promised you wouldn't say anything." Izar murmured, trying to calm the boy. "I don't mind jabs at my blood status, but don't you _ever _mention anything about my parents."

He got a fist in the face as a response.

Izar moaned, feeling his nose crack. While his eyes were shut from shock and pain, another fist caught his jaw, sending him backward, off Draco. Izar angrily pushed away the pain, all too familiar with physical torture and took his own crack at Draco. The blonde boy's punches were weak and soft; surely the boy didn't have any experience in fighting like a Muggle.

Izar was able to slam his knuckles into Draco's face, mainly near his eye and one directly at his nose. The crack was pleasing to Izar as it took away the tension he was feeling.

They were pulled apart after anymore throws could be aimed. Hagrid picked a bloody Draco up, hauling him out the hall. Izar caught sight of Draco's face before he turned. The stormy grey eyes had looked back at the Head Table before the boy paled dramatically. It was then that Izar knew Draco understood the full consequences of his actions. Izar glanced back to where Draco had looked, realizing the boy's devastation.

Tom Riddle, the politician, sat at the Head Table. His index finger traced the rim of his goblet as his eyes gazed at them from beneath his cheater glasses. There was no smile upon his face, not even a cruel smile; the man's expression was a frightening calm.

Izar swallowed; his own chill crawling down his back as he turned away. "Follow me, Mr. Harrison. To the Hospital Wing with the both of you before you two are properly punished." Professor McGonagal stated primly, her hand clawed at his shoulder, leading the way out the chattering Great Hall.

Izar was sure Draco and he would be getting a visit from the Dark Lord later on tonight.

This incident surely wasn't what the Dark Lord had wanted from Izar's first public appearance in the Great Hall.

**Death of Today**

After receiving the issued punishment of two weeks of detention and one hundred points from both Slytherin and Ravenclaw, Izar and Draco sat on the two beds in silence. Madame Promfrey had both given them Skele-Gro for their broken noses and issued a warning that they were to stay overnight. It was rather convenient for the Dark Lord to visit, which is what had them both wide awake, even if it was close to ten at night.

They were the only two in the Hospital Wing beside a first year boy who had eaten too many pumpkin pastries at dinner. He was at the opposite end of the room, far from both Draco and Izar.

"I apologize," Draco said stiffly, breaking the still night. "Looking back on it now, I realize my actions were horribly Muggle and graceless." Izar rolled his eyes upward, his fingers clutching the sheets to his bed. He would have loved to be anywhere but here. "In all honestly, I have been going through a lot this past week. But I should have never acted so immaturely in public. You had every right to shut me up with a fist… no matter how Muggle _that _was of you." Draco said snidely.

"It was either my fist or the new hex I read about in my textbook," Izar snapped just as hauntingly. "I found a decent spell to transform your internal organs into parasites that consume you from the inside out."

Even in the dark, Izar could _feel _the flinch from Draco. "I would have never done it, you know," Draco quickly said. "I would have never said Regulus was—,"

"That's enough," Izar snapped, interrupting Draco before he had a chance to complete his sentence. "You said enough at the hall tonight for even Crabbe and Goyle's thick mind to understand that I was related to the Black family." Izar hoped that wasn't true. However, Draco _had _repeated the Black family motto more than once and claimed Izar would never fit into that motto.

Despite his nonchalance at having a father, or a family, the boy's words had stung, albeit a small amount. He realized he probably wouldn't fit into the Black family expectations. He would never be pure enough. In fact, Izar wondered if he was the first Half-blood born into the Black family.

"If they ask, I'll say it was a reference to my family. After all, my mother was born a Black." Draco replied.

Izar could tell from the boy's tone that Draco wasn't all that sorry. The blonde was just sorry for acting out in public. He was sorry for getting caught. "I told you I didn't enter my name in the Goblet," Izar spoke slowly, as if speaking to a little boy. "I don't understand what made you turn so cold against me." Not that he was complaining, certainly, but he was a bit bemused by Draco's sudden change of attitude.

Wasn't it just on the train, heading to Hogwarts, that Draco wanted to turn a new leaf and _befriend _Izar? He even seemed possessive of Izar when Daphne showed up to the compartment, having already put a claim on him.

"I know you didn't," Draco snapped. "I was told _I _was going to be Hogwarts Champion. How could—,"

The boy shut up as a face emerged from the shadows. As Izar predicted, Voldemort all but appeared with the shadows, his body still cast in darkness. Only a bit of his face was revealed and it wasn't pleased.

"My Lord," Draco whispered hoarsely almost too quiet for Izar to hear. "I'm sorry." The Malfoy heir added quickly. "Please, forgive my mistakes, I beg of you." Draco sat up, his body bending forward in bed until he was in a bit of a bow.

"This is the second time today we meet on ill terms, Mr. Harrison," Voldemort completely bypassed Draco, stepping a bit more into the candlelight on the table between the two beds. Despite the ignorance from the man, Draco stayed in his bow. "I trust you realize how pathetic you appeared today? Leapingoff tables and throwing fists to a fellow Death Eater?" Izar's lips thinned. "I don't mind a bit of competition among my ranks, Izar, I do, however, mind the mere _mockery _you made of yourself."

Izar realized he couldn't keep challenging Voldemort with his stare. Instead, he looked down at his lap, giving a tight nod. "I understand, My Lord. I should have handled the situation more maturely."

"Be that as it may, the first Task is in two weeks. The Champions and their respected Ministers, or, in your case, Undersecretary, will be meeting for a formal luncheon before the Task. I expect you to not only be on your best behavior, but I would like you to _impress _me. Jumping off tables and acting like a Muggle hellion will only fuel my suspicions that you need to receive etiquette lessons from Rubeus Hagrid."

With his head bowed, Izar smirked at the dry and cynical tone of the Dark Lord. It was difficult picturing the half-giant giving etiquette lessons, especially after watching the man blow his nose on the table cloth at meals and spill his mead down the front of his tatty jacket. Because the Dark Lord was cracking a joke during his tirade proved the man wasn't very angry with Izar. It was Draco his fury was set on.

However, formal luncheons were just as much as a punishment. Izar knew very little about formal mannerisms during a luncheon. He would have to brush up on the etiquette. "By the time the luncheon arrives, My Lord, I will be sure to have a stick up my arse. Surely, only then, I will fit in with the rest." It was a bold comment on his behalf, but Izar was testing the waters with the Dark Lord.

If what Daphne said was true, that the Dark Lord favored Izar, then Izar wanted to see how far he could push the Dark Lord. He knew tonight was especially a risky night to do so, especially when he was already on thin ice with the man about Regulus, but Izar's intuition said that he had room for a bold comment. Just _one _comment.

Draco's head turned so fast, the boy's neck made a cracking sound. Izar could feel the boy's horrified eyes on him.

"Be sure that you do that," Voldemort hissed quietly, a slight twitch to his lips. "If you need assistance, I should hope you come to me."

Izar's eyes widened comically and he had to hide his expression from the Dark Lord. His cheeks gave a slight burn before he willed away his shock. The man had _bloody _retaliated. He had comeback with his own retort; one that Izar had never thought would come out of the man's mouth. But it had. And it hadn't sounded awkward and hesitant, it had sounded so silky and confident, making the dirty innuendo sound quite innocent.

"As for you, Mr. Malfoy," Voldemort continued without a pause. The atmosphere in the room dimmed considerably, the flame from the candle flickering just slightly. "You created such a distasteful performance this evening, terribly melodramatic. One that I'm sure your father will be pleased to hear about. To think, his son's mannerisms dip even below that of a Half-blood raised by Muggles in an orphanage."

Here, Izar scowled.

Voldemort's expression was carved from stone as he gazed distastefully down at the hunched form of Draco. "After I leave, I expect you to kneel on the ground tonight and thank whatever god or goddess you worship that you are coddled within the safety of Hogwarts' wards." The Dark Lord's voice turned cold, putting Izar on edge. He swallowed, his head bowed as he tried not to let Voldemort's icy aura affect him. "You would be under my wand for disobeying my orders of keeping Izar's parentage a secret. The next time you open your mouth of the Black family, your tongue will be severed from your mouth." There was no bluff in that vow.

"Y-yes, My Lord," Draco whispered, his body shaking.

"Your jealousy is unbecoming; you were not picked as the Champion for a reason, boy. Your actions tonight are proof enough. You cannot handle difficult situations levelheadedly." Charmed brown eyes averted from Draco's hunched form to Izar's watchful gaze. "I hope to see better composure from you, Mr. Harrison."

Izar gave a sharp nod, his mouth sealed.

Voldemort gave the two one last parting stare before merging into the shadows, leaving as quietly as he came in.

Draco gave a sniff, his face turned away from Izar as he slid off his bed.

The boy prayed that night on the cold ground.

**Death of Today**

A stomach growled in the cold dungeons, echoing across the room. Severus grimaced, his mind pulled away from his work. Casting a tempus charm, he cursed when he realized he had missed dinner by more than a couple hours. Vanishing the time, Severus stood from his stool, making certain to keep the stirring rod circling clockwise in the murky green potion. It was a simple Pepperup Potion. Madame Promfrey was running low on a few potions in her stock cabinet and Severus took today, a Hogsmeade day, to replenish those potions.

He wasn't one to skip meals. His body relied on nutrient to keep him sharp and in play. Skipping meals wouldn't contribute to his potion skills or his Occlumency and Legilimency defenses from the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore.

But admittedly, there were times he enjoyed absorbing himself in his potions, glad to be away from human interaction and _children. _

His back stiffened when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Onyx eyes raised from the counter to discreetly stare at the potion jars and vials in front of him. They reflected the scene of the room back at him, revealing a hooded figure standing near his open doorway.

At first, he assumed it was the Dark Lord. His potion stained fingers danced lightly across his left forearm before dropping. The Dark Lord was too smart to be walking through Hogwarts with a _hood _drawn. And the figure reflected in his potion jars was far too short and compact to be the Dark Lord.

"Can I help you?" Severus drawled silkily, turning slowly, calmly. His wand was inches away from him on the table, available for use if needed.

"Can you help an old friend, Severus? Yet again?" The voice was hoarse and scratchy, rough and unused. Nimble fingers pulled down the hood, revealing a grim smile.

Severus' eyes widened a fraction. "Regulus?" his heart gave a profound _thump_ at seeing the man again. It had been years, too long. Far too long. He recovered quickly, his sneer deepening. "Looking a bit rough, are we?"

Regulus chuckled, his vivid charcoal eyes drinking Severus in. "Izar said almost exactly the same thing. I still marvel at how much he turned out like you." The grim smile darkened a bit more, almost if the man was displeased that his son had turned out like another.

The two were remarkably alike, Regulus and Severus. It was how they got along so well. Severus would never tell him such. It pleased him that Regulus grew upset by the fact that Izar had mirrored him in personality.

"You went so far as to speak with him?" Severus' eyebrows rose. "I would have thought you would just gaze from afar."

"He's my _son_," Regulus responded hoarsely, passionately.

Severus issued a heavy sigh, motioning for Regulus to enter. His stained fingernails glared back at him and he grabbed a rag, trying in vain to wash away years' worth of stains. He tried to convince himself it wasn't because of Regulus' presence. "Shut the door behind you. Quickly. The Dark Lord is in the castle today."

The door slammed shut.

* * *

**{Notes}** I _know_ you probably don't need Skele-Gro for broken noses, there is a spell to fix that. However, it is late and I needed Draco and Izar together.


	13. Part I Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

"You're a fool for coming here, Hogwarts especially. You'll not only put yourself at risk, but both Izar and myself." Severus cast a silencing charm around the room, making certain they were as protected as they could be at Hogwarts with a Dark Lord roaming the halls.

"Odd," Regulus remarked shortly, his lithe form walking down the aisle of cauldrons. He studied the golden cauldron for a long moment. "That's what Izar said as well." Vivid charcoal eyes narrowed on Snape's stiff form. "Surely you're not corrupting my son, Severus. I'm beginning to feel as if my presence is not wanted here."

"Then you are right to assume so," Severus quipped dryly. He turned his back on Regulus, observing the mint green potion bubbling below his nose. His fingers caressed the glass stirring rod, satisfied to watch as it stopped and continued counter-clockwise.

"I would have thought," Regulus began again, not at all affected by Snape's demeanor. "That Izar would have _at least_ feigned interest and intrigue at my presence. He confessed to me that he had once believed himself as a filthy Mudblood. I would have liked to see more…warmth on his behalf at having a willing father, a pure-blood father." Regulus drawled. "Of course, I will assume blood status doesn't mean much on his behalf. These modern times we live in are not like they used to be."

Snape released a long sigh, his tapered fingers tracing over the book of potion text without seeing it. "Izar," he started. "Is an exceedingly independent wizard, Regulus. He's also intelligent. He knows you betrayed the Dark Lord and I assume you informed him of my involvement with your escape?" Onyx eyes noted the sharp nod the Black wizard gave as an affirmative. "Then he was right to distant himself and tell you to leave."

Snape closed his book with a _snap_ before turning to observe a silent Regulus. He knew the man was far too dominant, far too stubborn, to remain in hiding, to take the advice of his son and his old friend. The man was most likely silent because he was thinking of ways to get around the Dark Lord.

It was _not _possible. Not again.

"You know I always wanted a son… a child." Regulus murmured darkly, his lips thinned.

"Yes," Snape drawled dryly. "I know all too well." He turned his back on Regulus to observe the potion, his jaw set.

"Severus," Regulus' tone dropped unhappily.

Severus, despising the man's pitiful tone, whirled around, his nostrils flaring. "I will help you with your problem, Black. But by no means will I discuss the past or the _ghastly_ relationship you had with Lily Evans." He was a bit taken aback when he realized Regulus had grown considerably during his stay away from Britain. The last time Severus had seen Regulus was fifteen years ago. The man had just turned eighteen when he left Britain, a lot shorter than he was now.

Now, Regulus' piercing eyes were level with his own. It irked Severus that the man had grown. While the long fifteen years had been hard on the two men, Regulus somehow seemed to have lost his boyishness and embraced manhood. Surely Severus had changed just as well, only the long hours of potion making turning him yellow and greasy, while the life of a fugitive had made Regulus a lot paler and harsher.

"I will give you my assistance, my help," Severus continued softly, his fury at the past still raw on his mind. Why was reliving the past so painful? Seeing Regulus again, without the guarantee that he'll see him again, was already agonizing. "Go back to Russia."

Charcoal eyes blinked. "That is your help," Regulus growled. It wasn't a question, only a numb acceptance.

"That is the only help I am willing to give you," Snape agreed. "If you do not hold my life in high regard, think of Izar's freedom. The Dark Lord will surely use _this_, your sudden appearance, against him as blackmail. I can only imagine the things he'll make Izar agree to."

Regulus turned away, his stare directed at the large wall of potion ingredients. "You are correct as always, Severus. Leaving Britain would be the most logical answer. It would keep my loved ones safe, both Izar and…" charcoal eyes turned back to him. "_You. _However, I am sick of hiding. The long years have left me deranged and I am too selfish of my son to let him go. There has to be a way to come back into the limelight without the Dark Lord going after Izar and yourself."

"There is no way," Severus argued hotly. "The Dark Lord knows _all_. I would be extremely surprised if he hasn't already picked up on your presence here." Severus pushed off from the desk and crossed the room slowly. His mind was racing with possibilities of a safe passage for Regulus.

"I am not wanted by the Ministry." Regulus uttered calmly.

"The Dark Lord _is _the bloody Ministry." Severus hissed ardently. "While you were away, the Dark Lord has made his way up the political ladder to the Undersecretary of the Minister. I'm sure he would have enough power to have reasons to convict you into Azkaban."

Regulus chuckled ironically, his face contorting into a sardonic expression. "He…" the man paused, his lips thinning and his eyes alighting. Severus knew the man well enough to know he had just thought of an idea. "How favored is Izar to the Dark Lord?"

Snape's eyebrows rose at the sudden question. "Whatever makes you think Izar is worthy enough for the Dark Lord's notice?"

Regulus threw Severus an exasperated look. "The boy was barely fifteen when he was Marked." Regulus began to pace, his fingers raking through his long hair. Severus noted the length, not at all impressed by it. "I met Izar at the Hogs Head today. The Dark Lord entered not too long after, bringing Izar upstairs with him. Surely a low ranking Death Eater wouldn't be pulled aside privately." A sudden realization crossed Regulus' features. "The Dark Lord knew Izar was a Black, didn't he?"

Snape shook his head. "You jump to conclusions, the Dark Lord is all knowing, yes, but I can confidently say he did not suspect Izar's parentage. Nevertheless, you are right to assume he favors Izar." Severus paused, his lips twisting into a grimace.

"Is it sexual?" Regulus' tone dimmed quite significantly, his eyes following suit.

Snape opened his mouth, ready to give a harsh retort, but he faltered before trying again. "It may," he replied softly. "Yet, the Dark Lord doesn't make a habit of bedding his followers, especially one as young as Izar. And even if he did, he doesn't favor them like he does Izar. I've seen… a bit of evidence that it is sexual, but I think his favoritism is based on Izar's intelligence. The boy is a prodigy, even I will agree on that."

"If it's sexual…" Regulus trailed off, his face etched in a dangerous light.

"You cannot be sure," Severus replied calmly. "You had an idea to cover your hide, did you not?" He smoothly turned the subject away from such a ominous topic. And as predicted, it took Regulus' mind off his son's status as the Dark Lord's pet.

The lithe man grinned darkly, his earlier threat gone. "I'm going to approach the Dark Lord."

Severus blinked, sneering down his nose at the man as if he were one of his students. "That is, perhaps the most illogical thing I have ever heard coming from your mouth." His eyes narrowed. "Perchance, all those years living with your house elf took a calamitous turn on your own intelligence."

"It's the most reasonable option I have left," Regulus defended himself, his teeth snapping into a threatening snarl. Black took a long stride across the room, stopping inches from Severus. "Lily." The name brought back the past, getting under Severus' skin. He could see the sheer abhorrence in Regulus' eyes as he spoke of her.

"She blackmailed me with the threat of losing my child. It… it may work with the Dark Lord if he favors Izar. Surely he wouldn't kill those Izar holds dear, correct? I have a considerably large amount of political power not only the Britain Wizengamot but other countries as well. My chair is still open; the _Black _chair is still open. I have a ridiculous amount of money at his disposal and I have many properties across the world."

"All that will not blind the Dark Lord to the fact you had _betrayed _him!"

"I wasn't Marked at that time. _She, _Evans, told me about… an artifact the Dark Lord holds dear. It wasn't even there when I arrived at Bellatrix's vault, when I got caught. There are many twists I can play with my story. The Dark Lord isn't known for his merciful deeds, but he's known for his manipulations. He can use my position as the Head of the Black family to his own advantage." Regulus seemed confident and Snape wouldn't question.

While Regulus had been caught for his betrayal, Severus, still, to this day, didn't understand what had happened. He wouldn't dig and he wouldn't ask. It would put him in an even worse position. "If you are willing to choose committing your life under his servitude over living your life in Russia, than by all means, go for it." Severus caressed the Dark Mark through his robes, a grim smile on his face. "You are willing to sacrifice your life for a boy who doesn't want anything to do with you."

Regulus' shoulders slumped, his face crumbling into despair. "I need more time with him," the man whispered. "I saw a bit of hope from him today. As you've commented to me before, he's trying to distance himself from me because he wants to protect us."

"You are making a mistake," Severus hissed softly.

"Perhaps I am," Regulus smiled gravely. "But I need to protect my son. Izar may like to think he's independent, but he can't handle the world without someone to trust. When he grows older, there will be people who discriminate against him because he's a Muggle-born and there will be people who mistrust him because he's a Black. There is also my fanatical great grandfather and the curse— Cygnus' Curse. What if he's inherited the _gift_? I need to be with him."

"He's showed no signs of being able to see spirits—"

Regulus interrupted Snape. "It doesn't matter. We will only know for sure if he's near a source of death, particularly, the Veil." The man paused, charcoal eyes studying Severus. "One of the side-effects is magic sensitivity. Do you know if he's magic sensitive?"

"I do not know," Severus admitted. "While I have watched over him throughout his years at Hogwarts, I am not particularly close to the boy. Admittedly, I wasn't aware he was your son until his third year." Severus looked toward the door, his lips thinning. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

Regulus cocked an eyebrow while an arrogant smirk made its way across his face. Severus stared, seeing the ghost of the familiar eighteen-year-old Slytherin in Regulus and also seeing bits of Izar in that smirk. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Severus?

"Yes," Severus murmured dryly. "I have a Pepperup Potion that needs to be completed tomorrow."

Charcoal eyes danced across Severus' face before narrowing in on the cauldron. "I know you're frustrated with me and my decision of coming out of hiding. I understand I'm putting everyone at risk, but I can promise you, I will not allow harm to come to either you or Izar over my behalf. I want to straighten things out with my son, my family, and with you, Severus."

Snape turned away, infuriated. The man was suicidal. But Regulus was also smart. If anyone could worm their way out of a hole this big, it would be the Head of the Black family. Regulus was raised by his family to manipulate things to his favor. He was a true Slytherin and Severus could see no fault to Regulus when he _focused_. There were times, however, when Regulus resembled his brother in terms of taking things a bit too lightly.

There were several sides to Regulus. And Severus had been _blessed _by seeing all of them.

During school, during his young years of observing and hearing about pure-blooded families, Severus had been especially interested in the Blacks. He had heard of their insanity and duel personalities and their long-line of interbred families. While his school rival was a Black, he knew Sirius wasn't considered a _true _Black. It was during his second year when he fixatedly watched as Regulus Black was Sorted. Severus could still think back and vividly remember Regulus all but _glide _to the Slytherin table with his nose in the air.

From that day forward, Severus had watched in envy as the pure-bloods held themselves gracefully and importantly. No matter how often half-bloods tried, or even Muggleborns, they could never mimic that grace the pure-bloods held. During his later years, he had come to hate pure-bloods. Oddly enough, he could never tear his interest away from Regulus.

The man was always _there_.

There was always something that drew people to the Blacks. And it was the same with Regulus' son. No matter if Izar was tainted with Evan's blood, the Black gene was far too dominant in the boy to allow the mudblood seep through.

But despite Regulus' good nature at times_, _Severus knew there was a cruel side to Regulus just as well. There was the manipulation and the darkness, especially toward people Regulus did not know or like. And there was also the brutal side Severus rarely saw, but whenever he witnessed it, he had truthfully admitted he was both impressed and anxious.

A cold hand covered his. Severus stiffened, looking down at the ring-clad hand covering his before meeting eyes with intense gaze of Regulus. "You deserve so much better, Severus. I hope to bring you a bit more…radiance in your life."

For a moment's hesitation, Severus delighted in the warmth and passion Regulus ignited within him. But he only allowed _one _moment before scowling deeply. "Have you been reciting poetic briefs with your house elf, Black?" He ripped his hand away, grimacing at the knowing smirk crossing Black's face. He turned away, grasping the stirring rod and taking it out of the mint green potion. "When do you plan on approaching the Dark Lord?"

There was no response.

Severus looked up, his eyes searching his rooms before landing on the partly open door.

"Merlin have mercy on that foolish idiot," Severus murmured softly, his fingers itching the Dark Mark on his left forearm. "If not for me, then do it for his son."

**Death of Today**

Izar lifted the microscopic lens to his eye and directed his attention to the small chip on his finger. The portkey the Dark Lord had asked for was all but complete. It had taken a good week and a half to work on before he could safely say that it was functional.

At first, it had taken a bit of work getting all the charms to coexist after it was shrunk. His first attempt at the portkey had ended up in an explosion. He had constructed the portkey perfectly; however, after he shrank it— because Voldemort wanted it minuscule— the whole portkey had exploded. Izar lost his eyebrows and eyelashes and had to drag his feet to Madame Promfrey to help re-grow them.

While in the hospital wing, as Madame Promfrey was lecturing him about explosive magics and unsupervised experiments, Izar had realized his mistake. By shrinking the portkey, he had decreased the area of spell work he had created, thus, he had unintentionally merged the spells together, clashing them violently. The spells he placed on the portkey had reacted violently with each other.

In turn, Izar could either create Voldemort's portkey while it was shrunken or he could place a cushioning charm on the portkey after each spell he cast. Logically, it was the latter he chose. He couldn't work with something so small and diminutive. Instead, he layered and weaved cushioning charms in the spell work. As he shrunk the portkey, the cushioning charms stayed in place, not allowing the spells to clash together again.

Izar admired his work, a light and rare smile playing his lips. "Beautiful work," a voice murmured appreciatively behind him.

Izar frowned before looking up into the eyes of Lukas Steinar. The Durmstrang Champion grinned at him, his periwinkle blue eyes searching Izar. "If I remember correctly, the library is where students study." Izar started scathingly, his charcoal-green eyes zeroing in on Lukas' books. "The alcove near the Ravenclaw Common Room is not a location usually sought after."

Lukas gave a crooked smile. "What if I said I wasn't looking to study but looking for you?" His eyes surveyed Izar from head to toe in one slow, agonizing sweep. "I could say the same about you, you know. What are you _tinkering _with here, in the dark?"

Izar gave a snort.

He looked away from the tall Durmstrang student and took out a pair of tweezers. Slowly, he took the chip from his finger and set the portkey inside a case. Snapping it shut, he threw an observant Steinar a look.

"This is _my _alcove," Izar whispered darkly.

He had found the niche in his second year. It was a small loft-like room that sat above in the ceiling near the Ravenclaw Common Rooms. A set of hidden stairs led to the small room Izar currently sat at. It was darkened inside, lit only by a few lanterns Izar set up around the room. The back of a portrait took up most the room. Instead of seeing the back of a canvas, the portrait was sort of a two-way mirror. Izar could see the spiral staircase students climbed up to get to the Ravenclaw tower, but they couldn't see him.

It was his place to get away when the library grew too crowded. And of lately, it was his place to work on the Dark Lord's project. Lukas wouldn't be able to comprehend what Izar was working on. The boy had just seen a small chip; he wouldn't come remotely close and realize it was for the Dark Lord.

"Yes, I've heard," Lukas tittered. The brunette sat down across from Izar at the small table. "I asked what you were _doing _in here. What was that chip you were working on?"

Izar blinked, giving a scowl. "You ask too many questions for a boy who isn't welcome anywhere _near _me."

"That's fair," Lukas conceded softly, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs arrogantly. "But I have missed your _endearing_ presence. You just started attending meals last week and while I enjoyed your little fiasco with the blonde Malfoy, I find myself missing our competitive one-on-one banter."

Izar shook his head, hiding a grin as he gathered his books. His textbooks were strewn across the stone ground, making his work area look too cluttered and disorganized for his liking.

It had been a week and a half since his argument with Draco. Since that day, the blonde had stayed far away from Izar as possible. It wasn't as if Izar cared any for the boy's actions, he was just suspicious. At first, he had thought his own House, the Ravenclaw House, had placed his name in the Goblet. His uncertainties grew when Daphne pointed out that half the Slytherin House was jealous of Izar's position in Voldemort's eyes. It had made sense then, the Slytherins must have wanted Izar to prove himself or to get killed and out of Voldemort's sights.

But after the qualm with Malfoy…

Izar's lips thinned as he stared unseeingly at his messenger bag. Draco had gone on about things not going as planned and how it was supposed to be him. To anyone, it would have sounded like Malfoy was just frustrated that the Goblet hadn't chosen him— that it _should have_. But there was more to Draco's anger. The boy had been physically and emotionally ill over it.

After the scene, Izar's suspicions had turned to the Dark Lord and Lucius Malfoy. Those two wizards must have known Izar would be picked as Champion. It was originally meant to be Draco, but somehow, the two felt it better to pick _him_.

It would make a lot more sense. Draco had been disgusted that his father and the Dark Lord favored Izar. It would explain Draco's burst of confidence on the train to Hogwarts in the beginning of the year. The blonde had been pleased that the Dark Lord had picked him for such an important task. It would have come as a huge blow and insult when Izar was picked instead.

If there was a way, Izar would gladly transfer his status as a Champion onto Draco. If he put himself in Draco's shoes, he would be just as hurt that his father hadn't told him he wasn't going to be Champion.

But that still didn't explain _why _Voldemort entered him in the Tournament. And why the man hadn't told him about it.

It made him angry. And he had never been angry at the Dark Lord before, not like this.

Lukas cleared his throat, silently telling Izar that he had taken too long to respond. Izar closed his messenger bag up and leveled an expectant Lukas with a look. "I pity the poor soul you batted your lashes at in order to get my whereabouts."

The boy looked tickled at his response. "A Mudblood, Granger, I believe her name was. And they say Ravenclaw's are the smart ones of the school. She didn't even know she was being manipulated." Lukas tisked, his eyes dropping to the royal blue and bronze robes Izar wore.

"Should I judge every Durmstrang student as a royal pain in the arse just because you are one?" Izar asked sweetly.

Lukas chuckled lowly, leaning forward in his chair in order to peer deeply at Izar. "I can tell Granger isn't very well-rounded. She's a Mudblood. In fact, I'm pretty good at judging blood statuses." Lukas cocked a fine black eyebrow. "You're not a Mudblood like you say you are."

Izar gave a slow hiss, standing up abruptly. "Is there a reason you came up here?"

Lukas remained calm, sitting. "I've noticed that your Undersecretary, Tom Riddle, isn't very close with you. He looks at you as I would look at Granger." Lukas placed his hand on his chin, pensive. "He hasn't told you about the First Task, has he?"

"Of course he hasn't," Izar replied shortly. "That would be cheating, wouldn't it?"

"Cheating," Lukas repeated with a wry grin on his face. "I suppose that would be cheating, yes, if our Ministers haven't already told Cyprien Beaumont and I. We already know the challenge that is approaching tomorrow. How fair is that?"

Izar hid his anger skillfully and gazed at Lukas in boredom. Voldemort hadn't told him about the First Task. While the Dark Lord had commented on dueling being a large part of the Second Task, he never once hinted at the First.

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" Izar questioned.

Lukas stood up; his books and bag in hand. He took an advancing step forward, reaching out to trail his fingers across Izar's supple cheek. "Now _that_ would be cheating, wouldn't it?" The boy leaned forward, his hot breath hitting Izar's face. Izar stood stiffly, his face indifferent. "I came up here to wish you good luck tomorrow. We'll see each other at the luncheon tomorrow, but I won't have the opportunity to wish you luck so personally."

Lukas quirked one last grin as his fingers lingered across Izar's cheek before the boy disappeared down the stairs.

Izar stood rigidly in the center of his alcove. Why did he feel as if nothing ever went right in his life? Why were adults always abusing his trust? Why were children always mocking and full of disrespect?

Why did he have to feel so alone when he _wanted _to be alone?

Charcoal-green eyes were cold and bitter as they stared unblinkingly at the wall across from him.

The lanterns flickered out, leaving him in the dark.


	14. Part I Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Regulus stroked his short goatee while his opposite hand raked through his newly cut hair. Severus and Izar would approve, most definitely.

His new robes were stiff and restricting, but they were donned with the royal color of blue, a political stance for regime and also for peace. The Black family crest was stitched on his chest, large enough for anyone looking to take notice. There were a few Ministry workers who had paused and stared, the Black family not heard of very often in these modern times. Regulus was here to change that. The Blacks were the longest line of pure-bloods and political leaders in the history of the wizarding world.

It was time to take their stance at the top once again.

There was only one hurdle to get through before Regulus could claim his spot in the Ministry.

"I'm here to see Undersecretary Tom Riddle," Regulus drawled carelessly toward the woman at the front desk. She peered at him over her thick-framed spectacles, her murky brown eyes taking him in amusedly.

"Mr. Riddle is very busy today, I'm afraid you'll have to make an appointment and come back at a later date." She sniffed at Regulus and grabbed an agenda with her long talon-like nails. "Next month is the next available time—"

"I'm afraid that won't do," Regulus whispered darkly, straightening up in a domineering position. He towered over her sitting form, making certain he was all she could see. He caught the woman's gaze and held it intensely. She stiffened in her chair, her fingers trembling just slightly on her agenda. Nervously, she licked her lips when she noticed the Black family crest on his robes. "There must be a _short _time available today… now…" he pushed softly.

"Let him in, Roberta." A sinister voice simpered from the end of the hallway.

Regulus looked up, catching sight of the glamoured Dark Lord. The politician was leaning against his doorframe, his expression less than pleased. Regulus found his heart beginning to act up as soon as he saw the man standing across from him. Regulus had told himself— meeting at the Ministry wouldn't be as difficult as seeing the Dark Lord in his true form _outside _public eyes. But all that seemed to be silly as he was faced with the same amount of fear as he would any different scenario.

He had forgotten how easily the Dark Lord could strike fear in any man. He had forgotten the pure and potent charisma the man carried.

Regulus flashed Roberta one last look before walking stiffly down the hallway. There were desks lined up on either side of Riddle's closed-off office housing busy wizards and witches. They barely spared him a glance. After all, Regulus Black disappeared fifteen years ago. They wouldn't have recognized him.

Riddle took a step back, opening the door for Regulus. He stepped inside the office, knowing as soon as the door shut, his fate would be sealed.

The Dark Lord shut the door, brushing past Regulus and standing behind his desk. Silence was never a good sign of the man's anger. Especially when the man had his head bowed and his hands braced on the desk before him.

Regulus went down to one knee. Tightening his left hand into a fist, he brought up his arm and placed his pulse point right between his eyes. "Forgive me, My Lord. I have betrayed and wronged you… every possible way. I give you my freedom, I give you my will and soul as means as forgiveness."

His position on the floor was practiced in the olden days; the days the pure-bloods were respected… the days they practiced their dances. His posture was meant to show vulnerability and respect to a higher ranking wizard. And he knew Voldemort would recognize the posture, despite the fact the man was not of royal blood.

He didn't raise his eyes from the floor to survey the Dark Lord's reaction.

"You have wronged me _greatly_," Voldemort hissed, fury lacing his tone. "And for what means? All for your Mudblood wench?"

Regulus closed his eyes, controlling his temper. The Dark Lord didn't seem surprised that Regulus was alive. That only meant the man _had _known he was alive. Severus had been correct. "Forgive me, My Lord. But my betrayal was committed for _what _the Mudblood was carrying at the time. I committed my act of treachery for the son I was led to believe she was carrying."

The Dark Lord chuckled. It was not at all comforting and it sent goose bumps down Regulus' spine. "Depending on your motives, you are either smart or rather foolish for confronting me here, Black. You know I cannot do what I so rightfully deserve to do."

The Cruciatus curse. _If _Regulus was lucky. There were much harsher and painful curses the Dark Lord had up his sleeves. And that, in its self, is why Regulus approached the Dark Lord at the Ministry.

"I could bring you away from here," Voldemort continued. Regulus stayed hunched in his position, but he listened as the Dark Lord move around the desk to approach him. "Only there could I enjoy your screams for the wrong you have committed. You are rather sly, Regulus, to confront me so boldly. You know your son means a great deal to me, no?"

Regulus chanced a quick glance up, swallowing when he was met with passionate red. The man was angry if he allowed his glamour to falter around his eyes. "I do, My Lord," Regulus admitted. Severus once told him the Dark Lord knew everything and he sensed every lie. Regulus would not dig himself any deeper then he already was.

"And you assumed I would not kill you in order to stay in good graces with Izar, correct?"

Regulus struggled to breathe past the block in his throat. "Have I assumed wrongly, My Lord?" It was an _incredibly _foolish thing to say. It was too smart, too biting at a time like this.

Cold fingers grasped his jaw, breaking his stance. "I see where Izar gets his smart tongue, however, I will _not _permit it coming from you." Voldemort tightened his hold on Regulus, a deep sneer in place. "We have many things to continue discussing, Black. Luckily for you, I have a luncheon to attend with your son. I do not have time for this." The man stood up, throwing Regulus' face aside as if it were trash. "The next time we speak, you will receive your punishment. Izar will most definitely be present during that time, as I believe he deserves an explanation of your wrongdoings just as much as I."

It was understandable and something he wouldn't argue against. His son _did _need to know what transpired all those nights ago.

He stayed on the ground, knowing humility enough to _stay _until the Dark Lord told him to move.

"By the way," the tone in the man's voice turned cold, chilling Regulus. "What do you think of this?"

Regulus looked up, bemused as he stared at the ring in the velvet ring box. His eyes shot to the Dark Lord's, confused at the possessive gleam in his eyes. "I don't understand, who is it for?" His eyes went to the Dark Lord's hands, realizing a similar ring was on the man's finger. Only, the Dark Lord's was much simpler— a silver ring with a Celtic design.

The one in the box, however, was a pitch black ring. It contained an engraved Celtic design within its black titanium metal.

Regulus' stomach dropped and turned cold. He recognized the ring from many pure-blooded families.

"_No!" _Regulus hissed, fury blinding him once he realized what the magical ring was and its intended purpose. "Leave Izar out of this! This is between you and I, not him. He's _fifteen_."

Voldemort chuckled, snapping the case shut with a loud _snap _and placing it in his pocket. He seemed more than pleased with Regulus' reaction. "The more you open your mouth, the more you prolong the _Crucio_." Crimson eyes narrowed gleefully. "Izar has everything to do with this. I want you to be punished. And from what I've gathered..." Voldemort trailed off, cocking his head to the side. "You'll do anything to keep Izar _out _of trouble. Having your son suffer is a reasonable punishment for you."

Regulus sat, stunned.

A hand patted his head. "I will be keeping in touch with you for our next meeting." Voldemort buttoned up an outer cloak, pleased with himself. "You may show yourself out when you're ready to leave."

With that, the man exited his office, the ring case in hand.

Regulus' face crumbled as he placed his face in his hands.

**Death of Today**

"You look _very _handsome," Daphne persisted yet _again _as he made his way up to the third floor. Her hands continued to pry at his robes, picking and smoothing down the fabric. She pretended to spy a piece of hair. Stopping him in his tracks, she pinched the hair off his robes, pulling it off his fabric. Izar sighed.

"You're a mother hen," Izar exclaimed tiredly, pushing her hands away as she came at his robes again. "Everything will go fine, Daphne. I wore neutral robes, I read up on the etiquette for political luncheons and no matter what someone says, I couldn't care a less."

Mossy green eyes flashed up at him. "You told me what the Dark Lord said, Izar. He wants you to make a good impression." A sly grin stretched her flawlessly painted lips. "He also wants you to be a force in the political world, if I remember correctly. Just goes to show he has big plans for you."

Izar withheld another sigh, turning his gaze to the ceiling instead. He was beginning to believe he had made a mistake by telling Daphne what the Dark Lord had said at Hog's Head. He thought she could help him but he was a fool to believe Daphne would _just _help him. She mothered him instead, nitpicking on the littlest mistake he made at dinner. She even went as far to rub it in his face that she had been right all along.

"No," Izar drawled. "It just goes to show that he wants his Death Eaters to be influential wizards in the wizarding world, Daphne. It doesn't mean he has big plans for me," Izar spoke quietly, lowering his eyes back on her smug expression. "If neutral wizards find out that influential wizards were following a rising Dark Lord, they'd most certainly consider joining the cause. _That _is why the Dark Lord wants _all _of us to succeed."

She tisked, shrugging. "I just think he's sees the brilliant politician that I see in you. You'd make a brilliant dancer."

Izar frowned as he side-stepped further into the corridor, giving them more privacy as a few students passed. "Are you daft?" She glowered at him, her bottom lip seemingly curling into a pout. "I hate socializing."

"You _do _enjoy the shadows, Izar, yes, but whomever said you couldn't do both?" Sniffing, the blond witch adjusted her own robes, gazing slyly at Izar. "Do you like the robes I purchased for you?"

Izar snorted, looking down at the black robes. They were simple, yet they were _new_. He had never owned new robes before. His pocket change was never enough to afford robes that weren't second hand. "They're very nice," Izar admitted softly. There was a Hogwarts crest near his shoulder, declaring his loyalty to Hogwarts and not just Ravenclaw. "Thank you for the robes, I will pay you back as soon as I get the money."

"Nonsense," Daphne hissed. "They weren't particularly expensive." She paused, a manipulative light in her eye. "Dress robes, on the other hand, can be a bit spendy…"

Charcoal-green eyes narrowed into slits. "What are you getting at, Daphne?"

She reached forward, trailing a well manicured red nail along his collar. A wicked smile marred her cool features. "The Yule Ball is approaching, Izar. I was wondering if I could accompany you." Her expression crumbled into mock hurt. "I know its tradition for the wizard to ask the witch, but when have I ever acted like the submissive maiden?"

"You truly are one of a kind," Izar conceded. She looked expectant. He breathed heavily through his nose as he controlled his voice into a sickly sweet sort of tone. "I would be most honored, Ms. Greengrass, if you could accompany me to the Yule Ball."

Green eyes brightened. "I'd be delighted to, Izar," she gave a predatory smile. "I know just the robes to get you…."

She trailed off as a large figure cast a shadow across them both. Izar looked up, spotting Tom Riddle. The man's cheater glasses reflected off the corridor's torches, veiling his expression. Izar pursed his lips at the sight of the man, not at all impressed by the Dark Lord at the moment. Daphne, on the other hand, flushed a light crimson and awkwardly curtsied.

The Dark Lord chuckled lowly. Whether it was from Daphne or Izar's reaction, he didn't know, nor care.

"Ms. Greengrass," Riddle greeted silkily, causing the blush to rise in Daphne's cheeks.

Izar was disgusted. He had never seen Daphne look so… weak? The blond gave a light laugh, bordering on a giggle. No. Izar had never seen Daphne act so much like a bloody _girl_. Certainly, there were times in which Daphne read _Witch Weekly_, obsessed over her nails and hair, and appreciated appearances more than magical talent. But Daphne never blushed and giggled like a brainless twit.

"Undersecretary Riddle, it's an honor to see you again," she did one of her pure-blooded gestures with her head, greeting the man properly.

Izar turned away, brooding darkly. He ignored Daphne's disproved stare directed at the side of his head. He didn't care if he was acting childish or immature. He couldn't _look _at the Dark Lord after knowing the man had willingly put his name in the Goblet without notice, without authorization. Despite his anger, Izar knew he couldn't hate the man for such a thing. The Dark Lord does not ask his followers for permission. The man doesn't share his plans with his servants either. Especially a fifteen-year-old wizard.

Izar just thought he was closer to the Dark Lord then that.

"I'm afraid I must cut our meeting short, Ms. Greengrass. Izar and I are expected in the lounge." A cold hand snaked around Izar's shoulder before curling around his neck in a tight grip. A spark of magic passed between the two at the contact before Izar was pulled away from Daphne and down the corridor.

Izar was forced to glide with Voldemort, more aware of the hand then what was healthy. "I can't help but to think you're angry at me, Izar," Voldemort mused. "But that certainly cannot be the case, can it?"

"Of course not," Izar spoke dryly. "How could someone get angry with your majesty?"

Voldemort did not smile. The man's rampant magic should have been Izar's first clue to his mood. The man's hand on his neck was the second. He was angry. And it was making his Mark burn faintly.

Rather suddenly, Voldemort pulled Izar down an unused side corridor. At proof of the corridor's lack of traffic, their feet left footprints in the thick layer of dust, revealing the trail down the darkened corridor.

Voldemort let go of Izar's neck in favor of pushing him roughly against the stone wall.

Izar gasped quietly. He had never imagined the Dark Lord using physical dominance on him. He hit the back of his head against the stone wall, leaving him dizzy for just a moment. Blinking to clear his vision, he eyed Voldemort's face as it loomed before him. The man was white from both rage and a bit of excitement.

"We have only a few minutes before the luncheon begins. And in that time, we will strike up a very… sensitive agreement. I want you to listen very carefully to me." Voldemort's long fingers curled around Izar's collar, holding him in place against the wall as the Ravenclaw tried to straighten up. "A man visited me today at the Ministry, in my office. Can you imagine who would willingly seek me out?"

"I can't imagine anyone willingly doing so, no," Izar spoke scathingly, wary of how the Dark Lord was currently treating him. They were in public, in _Hogwarts_. Surely the man wouldn't do something too sadistic. Riddle was speaking softly, an indication that he was less than pleased. For the life of him, Izar couldn't remember doing something that would make the man this angry.

"Odd," Voldemort cocked his head to the side. "It was Regulus Black."

Izar knew he had stopped breathing. His skin turned cold and he tried his hardest to remain impassive. He had thought Regulus had gone back to Russia. But Voldemort's charmed eyes were slowly clouding with crimson as he peered down his nose at Izar, mere proof that he wasn't lying. Izar looked for any trace of a bluff, wondering if this was trap to get him to confess that Regulus _was _alive.

He couldn't find any. The man was serious.

Voldemort released his collar, taking a confident step back. "He begged me to forgive him today. You should know, Izar, that I don't forgive betrayal and I'm not particularly fond of forgiving those who lie to me."

He was speaking about Izar now. Somehow, they started off discussing Regulus and Voldemort twisted the blame onto Izar. "You knew I was lying then," Izar growled. "You knew all along that Regulus was alive. When I lied to you about meeting Regulus that day at the Hog's Head, I figured that simple, _small _lie wouldn't be worth a grain of salt. Not only because you seemed to have known, but I had thought Regulus would return to hiding. I did not know he would confront you."

"It does not _matter_," Voldemort hissed, his face contorting into a rage. "The day you took my Mark, I expected complete and utter loyalty from you. I put my trust in you—,"

"You don't trust anybody. Don't make me out as a fool," Izar whispered darkly. "For you to trust me, it would require you to tell me why you entered my name in the Goblet instead of Draco. It would require you to tell me the First Task like the other Ministers told their Champion."

The Dark Lord gave a wicked smile. "Getting a little off topic, Izar? Tell me, how long has this been eating away at you?" The man didn't wait for Izar to answer. "You are mine. I am your Master. If I wish to enter your name in the Goblet, I have ever right to do so. I do not have an obligation to tell you my reasons." An eyebrow arched. "As far as the First Task, I am more than confident you can handle yourself without the Task being presented to you on a silver platter. I want you to prove yourself to me. I want to see if you are the wizard I believe you to be."

Izar stayed slumped against the wall despite the fact that Voldemort had released his collar. His suspicions were proved right. Voldemort had entered his name in the Goblet. And he also acknowledged the fact that no matter how favored he was, Izar would always be below Voldemort. The man had every right to enter his name in the Goblet and not inform Izar. It was simply a matter of ownership.

"I can already tell you I'm not that person you believe me to be," Izar spoke slowly, as if trying to conjure up the correct wording. "I am not that wizard you wish me to be. I am Izar Harrison, the boy who was raised by Muggles. I will _never _be Izar Black, a pure-blood political dancer."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes before leaning in close. His nose was inches from Izar's cheek and his lips brushed lightly across his ear. "You will be whatever I believe you to be." Izar fumed. "But that is not what I have pulled you aside to discuss." The Dark Lord leaned back, taking hold of Izar's chin. He was forced to meet the man's eyes. "As I have said before, I do not forgive lying and betrayal. Your father will be dead before tomorrow's sunrise."

Izar furrowed his brows, angry tears prickling his eyes. He saw only absolute honesty in Voldemort's expression. The man really was going to kill Regulus. "There is something you could do, however, to stop my hand," the man continued calmly.

"What?" Izar questioned; a deep feeling of dread in his stomach.

Voldemort pulled back completely, taking out a small box. To Izar, it appeared like a small jewelry box. His assumptions were correct as he studied the ring sitting inside. It appeared to be black titanium, a very handsome ring.

"All you need to do is put this on your finger. Granted, I will still have to punish your father, but you will have my word that he will survive."

Charcoal-green eyes quickly looked up at the Dark Lord, stunned. "E-excuse me?" He stuttered, something he hadn't done… in what seemed like forever. Not since he was a child being threatened by his Muggle tormentor, Louis. He regained his dignity and narrowed his eyes on the man. "You planned this all even before Regulus came along, didn't you?"

He had no idea what the ring was. It was magical, that much was certain as Izar felt the bit of magic coming from the ring. There were multiple of magical rings in the wizarding world, originating from the pure-bloods. There were too many for Izar to remember. He really hadn't been that interested in the subject. After all, he would have never thought he would be subjected to one.

"Perhaps," Voldemort conceded. "The decision is yours to make. Either you put the ring on, and allow your father his chance of glory, or you refuse and subject your father to death. It's a simple choice, really."

"What does it do?" Izar demanded hastily, taking quick notice of the ring on Riddle's hand. The man had almost a replica of same ring on his middle finger, only his was silver.

"That is where you must take a risk. I will not tell you what it does. After you put the ring on your finger, you have every right to go look it up. You'll find the information in a textbook. But you must decide _now_." Voldemort raised his eyebrows, his ivory hand still holding the box out to Izar. Even Izar could see the absolute mercilessness in Voldemort's eyes.

Considering Voldemort possessed a similar ring, it was obviously linked to the man himself. It had to do with loyalty, possibly truthfulness. It could also be a punishment that put Izar through pain, both emotional and physical. He doubted the latter. Judging from Voldemort's expression, this ring was already planned before Regulus had come in the picture. But now, with Regulus' appearance, Voldemort finally had something to blackmail Izar with.

If he placed that ring on his finger, would he be destined for a lifetime of telling the truth to his Master? The possibilities of the ring were endless.

He couldn't deny his growing uncertainty for Regulus. It was difficult to pinpoint what he wanted to feel for the man. Dislike because the man thought he could waltz up to Voldemort and expect both Izar and Snape to get off safely? Or respect that the man actually faced his demons just to stay here in Britain?

_For him…_

"The luncheon will begin shortly, Izar. Quickly." The man was becoming inpatient.

Izar closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose, calming himself. He hated not knowing what the ring's properties were. He was oblivious to the fate he was choosing. It wasn't very fair. But then again, _life _wasn't fair. He had gotten used to that long ago.

"Which finger?" it came out raspy and small.

"Your left hand, middle finger." Voldemort took the ring out of the box, ready to place the ring on Izar.

"If I place this ring on my finger, you will spare _both _Regulus and Professor Snape, correct?"

Voldemort took Izar's wrist, pulling the younger closer. Izar stumbled, reaching out and steadying himself on Voldemort's arm. "Rather Slytherin of you, Mr. Harrison, I am impressed. Nonetheless, I will concede and guarantee that both their lives will be spared." The man didn't wait for anymore disruptions.

The ring was on Izar's finger, sealing both his fate and his father's.

Izar stared at the onyx ring, watching as it shrunk to fit him tightly. He felt the magic grow and expand, seemingly stretching between both himself and the Dark Lord. It would have made him feel better if he knew he could experiment with the ring. But even Izar knew magical rings were one of the most binding rituals in the magical world.

"Don't look so forlorn, there are worse things." Voldemort murmured softly, brushing past Izar and slowly down the corridor. "When you do find out the ring's properties I would like for you to approach me. We will need to discuss a few things."

Izar remained silent, following behind Voldemort.

He felt bound and _chained_.

He glared at the Dark Lord's back.

Now, more than ever, he felt more determined to figure out the Dark Mark. With the portkey finished, Izar had more time to commit himself to the wand core. Voldemort did not need to know Izar was finished with the portkey. The man would just assign another project to distract Izar.

**Death of Today**

The luncheon had been uneventful. Izar had been rather subdued during the gathering. He ate his food properly, he used his etiquette and he made polite conversation. Other then that, he remained silent, looking down at his plate and trying to pretend he was anywhere but there.

Tom Riddle, on the other hand, seemed to make up for Izar's silence. The man was sickly polite, trading cutting remarks with Bjørn Steinar, the Norwegian Minister. Their insults were always coated sweetly with an under layer of maliciousness. Even in Izar's mood, he marveled at the Dark Lord's flawless conversational talent. The man was a dangerous dancer.

After the luncheon had concluded, all Izar had wanted to do was race to the library and research the ring. But the First Task was scheduled conveniently right after their meeting.

Izar was currently situated inside the tent with the other Champions. His lithe frame was dressed in blue and bronze robes, signifying both Hogwarts and Ravenclaw. The other Champions were wearing their own robes for the Task.

Cyprien Beaumont and Lukas Steinar paced back and forth, their fingers brushing their wands for reassurance.

Izar lounged on his chair, grinning predatorily as he watched Lukas closely. He adjusted his leather glove, wondering why the judges had given them each a pair. "No smart comments from you, Lukas? My, my… you must be quite worried." Izar murmured cheerfully.

Cyprien, the redheaded Beauxbatons Champion, grinned at Izar before continuing to pace. Lukas, on the other hand, stopped short, his blue eyes flashing.

Before the boy could respond, the judges entered the tent. Their eyes appraised the three Champions, making sure they were dressed and decent. Dumbledore was in the lead, his long beard swaying back and forth. Behind the six judges, the sound of cheering was heard. It appeared as if all the fans were in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, awaiting the Task.

Izar stood slowly. His eyes briefly taking in Riddle. The politician gazed back at him stoically, his face inexpressive.

"Gather around," Dumbledore invited the three Champions.

Izar made his way over, ignoring Lukas as the boy brushed past his shoulder harshly. Dumbledore curled his hand around Izar's bicep, brining him close. The four stood in a tight circle with the five judges circled around close by.

"Each of you will draw a parchment," Dumbledore dropped his arm from Izar's shoulder in favor of pulling out three small scrolls of parchment. Each scroll had a golden ribbon tied around its middle. "On the parchment, you will find a number at the top. Your number represents the order in which you three will compete." The man paused. "For your first Task, each of you will be entering the Forbidden Forest. You will only be accompanied by your wand and your roll of parchment."

Izar took the offered scroll, slowly unrolling it to see a number three at the top. His lips thinned before his eyes traced over the list of objects on the parchment.

"On your parchment, you will find a list of items. It is your job to navigate your way through the forest in order to find and collect all the listed items. Points will be rewarded for each item collected and the amount of time it takes you to complete your hunt. The shorter amount of time will increase your chances of obtaining more points." Dumbledore gazed at the three wizards over his spectacles. "The Forbidden Forest is extremely dangerous. You will be rewarded points for each object obtained. If you find yourself unable to continue, there is still a chance you may succeed over your rivals."

Izar stared at the list, feeling his nerves settle just a bit. He knew all the items. Granted, he had never entered the forest before, but he had a general idea of where most of the plants and herbs favored to grow.

"You will also be allowed your bag and vials," Minister Steinar approached. He handed each of the Champions a sack with a few glass vials inside. "This is not just a scavenger hunt, boys," the man barked, continuing. "In the forest you will be confronted with beasts and horrors alike." His eyes dropped on Izar, a malevolent smile spreading across his lips.

Izar narrowed his eyes, raising his parchment and looking it over once again.

"You will enter the forest five minutes apart. Each of you will be timed separately." Dumbledore ushered the group with his hand. "Who is first?"

Cyprien straightened, revealing his parchment with the number one at the top.

"Then by all means, Mr. Beaumont, please accompany me out of the tent," Dumbledore then led the redhead out the tent. Madame Maxime and Minister Serge Roux followed the Beauxbatons Champion outside.

Loud cries from the students and fans erupted across the pitch at Cyprien's appearance.

Their cheers echoed eerily across the tent, leaving Izar a bit anxious.


	15. Part I Chapter 15

Big thanks to Cateria for translating some of my sentences in Norwegian. ;)

**Chapter Fifteen**

They were assigned to gather an aconite, a puffapod, one Ashwinder egg, a bubotuber, a hellebore, one toad stomach, three flobberworms, and lastly, the critical head of the runespoor.

Izar eyed the last request, his unease rising a bit. A runespoor was a very striking serpent and a very _dangerous _serpent. The runespoor had three heads, one dreamer, the other planner, and lastly, the critical head. The critical head of the runespoor had the most dangerous venom and the cruelest of teeth.

"They'll treat you well," a voice murmured deeply next to him.

Izar looked up, eyeing the Dark Lord. Tom Riddle was dressed in blue robes and a bit of bronze coloring. He was supporting Izar, clearly, but it was very subtle. One would have to look hard at Riddle to really comprehend the small signs of his robes. After all, Izar couldn't remember Riddle wearing _anything _but black, green, silver, and the occasional brown and red.

"Treat me well?" Izar questioned, frowning. Earlier, Izar had assured himself he wouldn't speak freely with the man until he found out what the ring on his finger meant, what his fate was sealed with. However, it was difficult to ignore the Dark Lord, especially when the man approached _him_.

"The serpents," Riddle concluded lazily. He was standing close to Izar, yet he was facing forward, away from Izar's curious eyes.

Lukas, Karkaroff, and Bjørn were huddled in a small circle, whispering to one another over the list of items. It would only be a matter of minutes before Dumbledore would approach the tent again, gathering Lukas for his turn to enter the forest. They seemed fretful, whispering heatedly with one another. Their eyes kept dancing across the tent at a satisfied and pleased Riddle.

"_Han er en ormmunn, far_," Lukas whispered in Norwegian, his own tongue, before glancing unhappily at Riddle. "_Han manipulerte ganske sikkert turneringen for å sikre sine egne interesser_."

Headmaster Karkaroff stayed oddly quiet. Izar noticed he tried to avoid looking at Riddle and his body was positioned slightly _away _from Lukas and Bjørn.

"_Ta det med ro, Lukas, han og hans representant skal få det de fortjener_," Bjørn gave a lipless smile toward Izar before ushering his son closer to the tent with a hand to the shoulder. They left Karkaroff to stand awkwardly by himself, yet Izar could still here them. "_Gutten er bare femten. Selv om han er smart så har han ikke en sjanse stilt opp mot ordentlig erfaring. Gutten er en lesehest, ingen ordentlig trollmann_."

Riddle straightened at the last bit, a malicious expression tracing his features. He inclined his body closer to Izar while still keeping his face nonchalant. "They know you're a snake speaker as well," Izar pointed out unnecessarily. The Dark Lord could understand Norwegian and Izar could comprehend more than half of what they said, the same with French and German. "They think you picked the items on the list… they think you manipulated the Tournament. Did you?"

The tension around the Dark Lord was slowly dissipating the more Izar spoke.

Charmed brown eyes finally met Izar's gaze. "I did," Riddle offered a vindictive smirk. "And despite your earlier anger at me for not mentioning the Task, I did take the initiative to speak to the serpents of the forest. They will all but bow down to you as you pass through."

Izar was flabbergasted and a bit insulted. "What…" he paused, eyes narrowing. "I can take care of myself. I thought you wanted me to prove myself to you? Surely the most difficult item to collect would be the runespoor serpent."

Riddle remained silent, watching through attentive eyes as Dumbledore stepped inside the tent to user Lukas outside. The screams grew once again in volume, reminding Izar he only had five minutes left to spare. "Serpents are my territory, Izar. I don't intend for you to struggle against something that I can disperse. You will face other dangers inside the forest. I wouldn't want you to come away with venom poisoning, something I could have prevented."

Izar pushed himself off the chair he was leaning against and walked closer to the exit to the tent. He was angry at the Dark Lord. "I wanted a fair competition," he muttered darkly.

"Is that so?" Riddle questioned lightly, amusement clearly in his voice. "Were you not the one who demanded to know why I didn't tell you what the First Task was?"

Izar felt the tips of his ears go red. The man _did _have a point. "That was wrong of me," Izar muttered. "You were right not to tell me."

He listened as the Dark Lord approached him from behind. Despite the man's silent approach, Izar could sense Riddle's magic slowly growing closer. A hand snaked out and curled around his jaw, turning him to meet the man's eyes.

"I want you to forget everything today, Izar. Forget about your father, the ring, and the fact that you are my Death Eater. All that should be a mere distant memory in comparison to the task." The man paused. "Try your hardest and you will succeed."

The man patted his cheek a bit roughly, causing Izar's cheek to burn in its wake. He glowered at a smirking Dark Lord.

"Izar?" Izar turned, catching periwinkle blue eyes. "Are you ready?"

Izar looked at his leather gloves. In his left hand, he clutched both the sack of vials and the roll of items. In his right hand, he already had his wand out and ready. "I am, Headmaster," Izar gave a quick nod, slowly looking back up at the smiling man.

Dumbledore chuckled lightly, motioning Izar forward with his hand. "Then follow me, dear boy." Izar followed the instruction, quick enough to catch the guarded look Dumbledore sent Riddle over his head. Izar remained oblivious, his face not betraying his amusement. He was right to assume Dumbledore would be suspicious of Riddle. It made Izar wonder how much it irked the old man knowing that a Dark Lord was courting his students and walking the halls of Hogwarts. The Headmaster had no say over the matter, especially because Riddle was so high up on the political field.

With a deep breath, Izar escaped the tent, only to walk on the grassy Quidditch pitch. He had only attended Quidditch matches in his first year. The sport never interested him, not as much as the next Potions or Charms essay did. But he had always wondered what the stands looked like from the Quidditch player's perspective.

His curiosity was sated as countless of students stood up at his arrival, cheering.

Izar found it difficult to look around without feeling… flattered. He hated feeling so bloody sentimental, but it was hard not to when most the population of Hogwarts was showing their support for him. Students raised their left arms, revealing the blue bands across their forearms. And it wasn't only students in the stands; there were also parents and older adults standing amongst the crowd.

Izar offered a small smirk, keeping his chin held high as much as he could. He took comfort in the fact that Dumbledore's tall form towered over him. But it wasn't really a positive when the man insisted on keeping Izar in the limelight.

It was easy to spot the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons fans. Not only did their school uniforms clash against the others, but their sitting forms were a sore thumb compared to the others on their feet. Izar ran his eyes around the fans, not able to distinguish any features from the men and women. They were too far up for him.

His eyes took in the three large screens hanging for all the pitch to see. Dread filled his stomach when he realized that there were small cameras following each of the Champions. Each Champion had their name underneath the screen, the amount of time they were in the forest for, and the number of items they collected. It appeared as if Cyprien was in the lead, already gathering four out of the ten objects.

"You didn't tell me we would be followed by a bloody wizarding _camera_," Izar murmured to Riddle as the man stopped next to him.

Riddle all but smiled at the stands.

The third screen was blank, ready to follow Izar when he entered the forest. As if sensing his utter _excitement _at being watched, a small device flew across the pitch right in front of his face. Izar frowned, taking a step back as he surveyed the creature… the device. He distinctively remembered reading about the device. It was called a Watchful. It appeared remarkably like a Snitch the Quidditch players used to catch in the games. Only, it had one large eyeball.

Izar swallowed, sneering as his image appeared on the screen.

"Ignore it," Riddle whispered softly. "You'd better not allow it to distract you." And Izar was smart enough to hear the warning in Riddle's tone.

"_Sonorus," _Dumbledore pointed his wand to his throat, his voice becoming deafening in volume. "Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present you with the Hogwarts Champion, Mr. Izar Harrison." The cheers heightened once again, making Izar feel ill.

"Smile," Riddle whispered in an irritated hiss. His command was far too quiet for the _sonorus _charm to pick up. "Bloody child, _smile_."

Izar swallowed his bile and gave a twisted smile. The smile was just as comforting as the stare he was receiving from both Tom Riddle and the Norwegian Minister, Bjørn Steinar. Izar offered a small wave, hoping that it made up for his lack of a politician smile.

Riddle caught his eyes before turning away. An amused smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

Dumbledore chuckled; patting Izar's shoulder like one would do a small child. "Mr. Harrison will receive the same list of items as the other two Champions, with the same rules involved. Let us wish Izar good luck." Dumbledore removed his hand from Izar's shoulder as he flung his wand in the air. A loud _snap _echoed across the pitch as an image of the Hogwarts crest materialized in thin air. "Begin!"

Izar flinched, blinking, before turning to run. His timer started to churn, the flashing numbers mocking Izar as he sprinted across the pitch toward the forest. All the while, the moving eye followed at his heels.

He entered the forest in record time, his breath coming through his nose in short huffs. It was understandable that he paused before entering the trees. After all, ever since he was a student, he was always advised _never _to enter the forest. Only this time, he was expected to.

"_Lumos," _his wand tip lightened in the dark atmosphere of the forest. The early October air was a bit chilly, especially in a place that the sun doesn't reach very often. He came to a stop near the entrance of the forest, his gaze on the ground.

It would seem sensible if the bubotubers were nested near the edge of the forest. They generally enjoyed the warm sun when they slept and wiggled beneath the ground during the night when they were active in the rituals of mating and consuming soil. Izar grimaced as he walked along the forest floor, hoping to see a sign of the nesting area. He ignored the Watchful as much as possible. He tried not to think of the hundreds of people watching his every move. It just made him distracted. And Voldemort most _definitely _would not want him distracted.

Up ahead, Izar caught sight of upturned soil. There they were. Bubotubers. Sitting vertically in the soil, they appeared like a patch of mushrooms. Their tails were slowly wiggling back and forth in the setting sun, a sign of their deep slumber.

Izar walked softly toward their nesting area, gathering one of the vials from his sack. Thinking of his fortune at the leather gloves, he pinched one of the bubotubers and withdrew it from the soil. It squirmed and Izar quickly placed it in one of his vials before it could shoot pus from its many sacs. He grimaced as he held the vial close to his face, watching as it shivered from the cold. Disgusting creatures… but useful for skin acne.

"First item recovered; bubotuber."

Izar turned, staring at the Watchful as it dully announced his first gathered item. It spoke also. How…convenient.

His eyes went past the Watchful toward the tall bush behind it. He perked up, quickly standing and making his way over to the familiar brush. It quivered as Izar approached and he all but purred in excitement. It was a Flutterby bush. Oh, sweet _Merlin_. He leaned closer to the bush, watching in fascination as the leaves twitched and fluttered. They were an important ingredient in Felix Felicis, liquid luck. Izar had no need for the potion, but he had always been interested in brewing it. And it would cost a pretty penny…

He stood up stiffly, staring at the leaves. It wasn't on his list of required items, but…

Charcoal-green eyes glanced at the fluttering Watchful as it stared at him. Really… _now _he understood why this Task would be so difficult. Throwing a Ravenclaw in an area with so many rare and valuable ingredients was just torture. Especially when it wasn't on his _list_.

Izar huffed, reaching out to cut a stem of the Flutterby bush. He quickly placed it in his sack, walking away.

"Unidentified item," the Watchful spoke monotonously.

"Oh, hush," Izar growled, swiftly walking deeper into the forest.

**Death of Today**

Izar scrambled from the murky pond, brushing the dripping water from his face. He grimaced at the horrible smell, wondering how the _hell _toads could move that quickly.

"Ninth item recovered; toad stomach." The Watchful blinked at Izar lazily as the boy shook himself of the muddy water.

Eight minutes passed since he entered the forest and all he needed was the runespoor head. A few minutes ago, he heard a loud ringing across the forest. The Watchful following him had announced that the Beauxbatons Champion, Cyprien, had reached the pitch first. Izar imagined the boy would have been there quicker if it wasn't for the serpents and the long trek back to the pitch. After all the running and sprinting Izar had done, he assumed he was just as far from the pitch as Cyprien had been.

So far, there hadn't been any creatures to block his path. The Centaur Izar stumbled across dismissed him as a mere child with no threat. The Centaur warned Izar not to continue further into the forest, for _terrible things _would transpire. Izar had nodded sincerely and disregarded the warning. After all, runespoors and the aconite were known to be in the deepest depths of forests.

Since the warning, Izar felt unsettled. He didn't believe in the Centaur's warning, no, but he was feeling a bit uncomfortable. It could have just been the Watchful following him. But no matter what it was, he wouldn't lower his wand despite his knuckles being sore and locked.

His hair was sticking up in every which direction, the ends curling uncontrollably with the moisture it was receiving. His clothes were ripped and burned from the Ashwinder's eggs. Despite Riddle's reassurance that they would all but _bow _down before him, Izar still encountered a problem with the mothers guarding their nests.

At the Ashwinder's nest, he had also encountered Lukas. The two didn't trade any comments, mindful of the fans watching. In fact, there had been a couple of times in which Lukas had been conveniently nearby wherever Izar went. Izar was happy to know the boy looked just as worse off as himself.

_Croak _

Izar turned toward the pond, his wand light giving him enough leeway to see a group of toads staring at him from their lily pads. Izar grimaced as their throats expanded into sacs before croaking again. They were angry at him for taking away one of their own.

_Croak. _

Izar looked down, his eyes wide as he saw the fat toad on his shoe. "Move— you foolish creature," Izar hissed, disgusted. He kicked his foot, sending the fat creature flying. A loud _plop _was heard as it landed in the pond.

Just then, a pinching-sort of sound issued behind Izar. He froze, staring at the pond before slowly turning. As feared, an Acromantula stood behind Izar, its pinchers clicking together in excitement. Its eight eyes gleamed back at Izar from the light of his wand.

"You don't want me," Izar reasoned with it, grinning nervously as he saw another Acromantula fall behind the one closer to Izar. "I mean…really," he pinched his arm. "I don't have enough flesh, clearly."

"Clearly, you'd be enough for some of us." The creature growled, its pinchers clicking.

Another three scampered across the light of his wand and Izar realized that he might have gone _too _far into the forest. "You're right of course," Izar nodded, the grip on his wand becoming unbearably tight. He knew a spell for _one _Acromantula, but it wasn't enough for a whole army of them. "You can't have too many humans wondering around the middle of the forest, no?"

He took a step backward and was more than aware of the other Acromantulas behind him. How could he have let himself be circled? It was foolish of him to be so oblivious of his surroundings like this.

The Acromantula tapped its pinchers one last time before lunging. _"__Arania Exumai!"_ Izar whipped his wand across his body as he blasted the spider back into oblivion. It was meant to kill large bred spiders, Acromantulas especially.

Izar turned and fled, his brain working overtime. Sirius had worked with him this past week with dueling. The first thing on his mind… right…

"_Cendere,"_ Izar whispered, his wand making small circles. Above his head, a small ring of fire erupted. _"Cendere,"_ he murmured again, the fire growing. Behind him, he could hear the tapping feet of the running Acromantula. The sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stand in apprehension. _"Cendere." _

The fire grew, intensifying. It was similar to that of a thick rope as it connected to his wand. Izar stopped running, dropping his sack of vials and items as he readied himself into a defensive stance. The spiders came at him from all angles, closing him in.

His arm swung around his body as he whipped the fiery rope around him. It created a wide circle around him, keeping the spiders at bay. The fire struck a few of the Acromantulas, the ones dense enough to try to enter past the perimeter he set up. They screamed, hunching backward, but staying nearby. Even they knew he would shortly tire of circling the fire. And when that happened, their meal would be defenseless and weak.

Izar breathed heavily through his mouth as he conjured up his next plan of action. The _only _thing Acromantulas were afraid of were Basilisks. And there _was _a spell to conjure a Basilisk, but it was considered Dark among many textbooks. The Basilisk would be conjured for only a few hours, if not minutes, depending on how much magic one used. After which, they would banish. But it was long enough for Izar. He only needed to chase off the spiders.

He was only cautious of the spectators watching. Dark magic was not forbidden, only the Unforgivables, yet the art was still looked down upon by many Light wizards.

He had no other choice.

Izar swirled the fire another time around, concentrating on the long incantation. Surely he only had _one _chance to do it right. He was sure he remembered the incantation. _"Inferorum animas…"_ Izar started weakly. _"Basilisk."_

His wand trembled, turning almost unbearably hot. A strong wind ruffled his hair as his fire extinguished and another, much larger object, moved around him. His eyes closed, knowing full well that the Basilisk's gaze would affect him just like a real one. However, instead of the gaze killing him, it would only petrify him if he looked at it in the eye. He didn't need to worry about the venom; after all, he was the one who conjured the serpent. The conjured Basilisk would not attack its caster.

Izar threw his wand hand out, pointing it toward the surrounding Acromantulas. A soothing _hiss _escaped the Basilisk's mouth as it lunged excitingly. The ground trembled as the spiders scurried away from the Basilisk.

Risking it, Izar cracked open an eye, watching as the Basilisk moved deeper into the forest, chasing the frightened spiders. He made a mental note _not _to go that direction.

He breathed deeply, calming himself. The forest was at a stand still, even the toads moved under water at the sight of the conjured Basilisk. His hands were shaking as bent low to retrieve his fallen items. Only a runespoor was left to gather. That wasn't so hard…not if Riddle had spoken with them. And after which, he would have to venture his way back to Hogwarts' grounds before he could safely say he succeeded in the Task.

Izar stiffened as his magic sparked. He felt another source of magic approaching him from behind. It wasn't a strong source of magic, just a small bit of detection. Possibly an animal or maybe _Lukas, _again. With his wand at the ready, he turned, only to be greeted with a face-full of glowing powder.

He spluttered, the powder going up his nose and his mouth and eyes. He tried to wipe it away but his arm stiffened and feel uselessly to his side.

And then the pain started.

A high-pitched scream escaped his lips before everything… _swam and swirled. _

**Death of Today**

Severus sat stiffly near the judge's panel, watching the proceedings through a critical eye. The Dark Lord was just as obsessive as he watched the screen further to the right. Izar was doing brilliantly, Severus would grudgingly admit.

While the Beauxbatons Champion had already made it back, he _had _started ten minutes before Izar and five minutes before the Durmstrang boy. Both boys were still in the forest and both of them were nearly finished.

Severus sat back as he watched the proceedings with Izar and the Acromantulas. As the boy battled the spiders, Severus noticed the grace the boy possessed, an elegance many wizards would envy. It was inherited through the Black family tree and Izar's slight stature only heightened the noticeable poise.

Surprisingly, Izar was holding his own for a boy of merely fifteen. Onyx eyes tore away from the screen and watched the audience. They were ensnared, their faces expectant as they watched the battle. He bypassed them, hoping to catch a… familiar face. Yet, it was impossible to look for _him_. If the man was smart enough, he'd be far away from the Tournament today.

But what if Regulus had already spoken to the Dark Lord?

Severus casually looked sideways at the Undersecretary. The man, dressed in the rare colors of navy blue and bronzed accents, was laid back as he observed the screen. His thin glasses reflected back the image of Izar conjuring fire as means of a shield.

Severus frowned, turning away. Riddle was the only wizard, with the exception of Dumbledore, that he feared. The man was far too brilliant at mind games to be healthy. He hid his true feelings behind a mask so strong, Severus could only _dream _of seeing beneath. It was the same with the man's intentions.

Murmurs spread throughout the pitch. Severus looked up; catching sight of the Basilisk Izar just conjured. It was a Dark spell and Severus knew there would be questions surrounding the boy's knowledge at such a spell. It was terribly advanced and not in the Hogwarts' curriculum. Severus smirked, a bit proud of the child. From the corner of his eye, he observed the Dark Lord as the man was all but _tickled. _

More yells erupted through the audience as Lukas Steinar's screen blinked out. It was normal for the device to blink, but never this _long_.

Severus leaned forward in his seat, a bit unsettled. Drinking in the sight of Izar, he watched as the boy slowly turned. The screen blinked out just as they heard a scream. Severus stood, quickly exiting the stands. The potions master met the Dark Lord at the judges table as soon as the man stood up. As predicted, Riddle's face was clear of any concern, of any emotion.

"Do not interfere," Bjørn Steinar snarled, his teeth snapping into a snarl. "The Watchful is known to malfunction at times. Surely, Dumbledore, you will not permit _Undersecretary_ Riddle to enter the forest and interrupt the Task."

Dumbledore stood, along with French Minister Roux. "You heard the scream, Bjørn, don't assume you did not." Roux declared, almost bored. "Let us enter and see for ourselves. If everything is well, we will leave the situation as it was."

Riddle hadn't waited for the French Minister's words. The Dark Lord was already across the pitch and close to the entrance of the forest. The man's cloak flew out around his tall frame, exaggerating his strides. Severus was on his heels, a bit concerned. "Surely you don't think it was Izar?" he questioned lightly.

Master and servant were ahead of the others by a long distance. Behind them, they heard Dumbledore call for order and for the students to stay in their seats until further notice. "No, I do not_ think_ it was Izar," the Dark Lord issued softly. Severus nodded tightly. "I _know _it was him. Quickly, Severus, do try to keep up."

Onyx eyes widened a fraction as they searched the Dark Lord's expressionless face. The man was all but gliding through the woods in a pace that forced Severus to jog. The Dark Lord had no strain on his face, no inclination that his legs were being stretched to their maximum. Severus also took note in the man's lack of wand. It was, most definitely, inside the man's sleeve, but it wasn't out in his hand, directing them in a Point Me spell.

It was if the Dark Lord _knew _where Izar was.

Behind them, they heard the other judges scrambling to keep up. They were no where near as silent as Severus and the Dark Lord.

It took a good five minutes to hunt through the forest. Severus found himself trying to stop his heavy breathing when he noticed the Dark Lord not making a sound. But before he could continue to follow the Dark Lord, he stepped on something uneven. Pausing, he moved his lightened wand to his foot, observing the Watchful beneath the sole of his heel. Its eye was torn out of its socket, clearly damaged.

"Severus, quickly," the Dark Lord murmured through the darkened forest.

Severus looked around, not seeing the man at first glance. Upon closer inspection, he caught sight of a kneeling figure. Severus rushed forward, the sound of feverish whimpers sounding at the base of Riddle's knees. "What do you think it is? I can't say I recognize it, but if I knew it by name, I would be familiar." Riddle continued, his face peering closer to the glowing purple powder scattered across Izar's face.

Severus stopped in his tracks, horrified. "My L—," he cleared his throat, a slight flush on his ears for making the mistake of the man's title in public. "Mr. Riddle, please, move away quickly and do not inhale suddenly."

Surprisingly, the Dark Lord backed away, however slightly. Severus kneeled down, his eyes wide. He was subconsciously aware of the approaching figures. "What is it Severus?" Dumbledore questioned, his face etched of concern as Izar issued a louder moan.

The boy's eyes were wide and his lips were moving in silent screams. A few moans and yelps escaped the throat and they slowly began to grow louder with the presence of more wizards. Severus observed the boy's pupils. They were completely dilated, a sign that the dust was working its curse.

Angrily, Severus waved his wand over Izar's face, banishing the glowing purple dust. "_Devil's Venenum_," Severus shook his head. "It's a form of Alihotsy, a powder that causes hysteria. Only, the _Devil's Venenum_ causes mind hallucinations until the brain shuts down completely. It's inhaled through the nose and mouth."

"Is there anyway to stop it?" Dumbledore exclaimed, a somber expression crossing his normally jolly features. "Surely Madame Promfrey—,"

"No magic," Severus replied harshly. "The victim only gets worse if magic is cast on the body. The dust thrives off magic, giving it strength to eat the mind faster. Only the victim's _own _magic can try to eat away the curse. It's cured by natural causes, Headmaster. If Izar is strong enough, he may be able to fight it. Otherwise, he may become brain damaged, or worse, die."

Dumbledore paled, his eyes widening. He shut his mouth into a thin line, a dark expression crossing his face. "All of you, out." He motioned his hand at the other surrounding judges. "There's been an attack, an _unjust_ attack toward one of the Champions. Dismiss the spectators, and postpone any questions until further notice." The judges stood in place, their stunned eyes examining Izar as the boy twitched harshly on the floor. _"Now!" _

With Dumbledore's strong order, the judges reluctantly trekked back to the castle, leaving Severus alone with Dumbledore and Riddle.

"Is there anyway this could have happened by a plant or an animal, Severus?" Riddle spoke darkly. "Or was this intentional?" Why did the man have to ask what he already knew?

Severus' hands lay uselessly on Izar's shoulders. The boy was trembling beneath his hands and Severus felt worthless. He tore his eyes away from Riddle, already too unsettled with the situation to put himself through the Dark Lord's cruel stare. "Intentional, unfortunately. _Devil's Venenum _originates in northwest Asia. It is not native to these lands." Severus replied softly, furrowing his brows at Izar as the boy whimpered pathetically.

"We will speak of the incident when we get Izar to the castle," Dumbledore spoke softly. "Severus, will you carry Izar?"

"Stop," Riddle ordered sharply, causing Severus to pause. His hands were underneath Izar's back, ready to scoop him up. Izar issued a line of distressed whimpers. "What if…" Riddle cast a distrustful glance at Dumbledore. "What if the boy is magic sensitive? Surely Hogwarts' magic would be the same as casting magic on him, correct?"

Severus froze, an icy sensation gripping his chest. "Magic sensitive?" Severus repeated numbly. His fingers shook and he was forced to let go of Izar. He stood up, backing away. "If that is the case," he flashed a look at the Dark Lord. "Then we have a far more serious issue at hand than originally thought."

"His Muggle orphanage," Dumbledore spoke up quickly. "We can transport him to his orphanage. Only there, will he find salvation from magic and magical beings."

"I do not think so," Riddle hissed passionately. "They will throw him aside like a sack of rubbish. He will not receive the care he needs."

Dumbledore's face split into a dangerous leer. Severus took another step back, mindful of the growing magic around him. If _he _was aware of the magic, then Izar most certainly was. The boy's cries grew louder as the magic increased. "Do not allow your prejudice for Muggles to cloud your judgment, Tom. This is a boy's _life _we are speaking of—,"

"I'm more than aware of that, Dumbledore." Riddle spat back, his wand in his hand. "Allow me to bring him somewhere free of magic. My father's home." A sneer upturned Riddle's distinguished features. "I will bring Mr. Harrison to my late father's home. There is no magic there."

Dumbledore hesitated. "There is no one to take proper care of him—,"

Again, the Dark Lord interrupted. "I will, of course. I know certain spells that are able to remove my magic for a brief period of time. He will be well looked after." Riddle already lifted Izar in his arms, cradling the boy with more care than Severus would have ever thought possible.

Dumbledore remained silent.

"Can Izar's body take an apparation?" Riddle questioned coolly, his face free of any impatience or distress. However, even in the light of Severus' wand, he noticed Riddle's crimson eyes breaking through the charmed brown. The man was only angry and Dumbledore was far too observant not to notice the eyes as well.

"It's the only way to transport him, yes," Severus gave a sharp nod, not believing his own words. The boy would be affected by the apparation, no doubt.

Severus wondered why the Dark Lord was risking so much for Izar. Granted, there would be political gain from this incident. The public would be in favor of the man when they found out he selflessly nursed an ill boy back to life. But what of Dumbledore's thoughts?

With a sharp nod, Riddle apparated out of sight.

Dumbledore stood, his posture oddly defeated. "Why do I feel as if I sent Mr. Harrison to his own death?" the old man questioned despairingly. Dumbledore rubbed his face with long, thin fingers. "It is impossible to believe that Tom could care enough for someone to live as a Muggle for a few hours, let alone days. Impossible to believe," the man repeated disconsolately.

Severus remained silent, his own thoughts running too far to comprehend.


	16. Part I Chapter 16

**{Notes} **Bah. I don't like this chapter… *grumbles* It _is _one of the longest I've written, though. Enjoy.

**Chapter Sixteen**

"They're pink," Izar spoke, startled. "I knew it all along. The spiders, they're pink." He waited, knowing that his companion would be most interested in this observation. His companion, the silly one next to his bed. Izar didn't have to turn to know he was there.

"Is that so?"

"So," Izar snickered. "They're dancing… with a Basilisk…. Really… how strange is that?"

"I would say it's unheard of, very strange," the voice agreed dryly.

A cold hand ran through his wet locks, brushing them away from his face. Izar blinked at the vision of the spiders and turned to his bedside companion. A smile was already across his face, eager to know what his companion would look like next. Every time he looked at his friend, the man would appear different each time. There were times in which his companion had painted lips and glowing pink eyes. There were other times his companion had fangs and horns… and there were times, like now, where he appeared like a normal human being.

"Dumbledore," Izar slurred, staring at the man with the long beard next to him. "You don't have your glasses—," Izar reached out toward the companion's face, wondering when Dumbledore started to wear _black_.

His finger was intercepted by hands that appeared strangely like frog feet. "I am not Dumbledore," his companion spoke, irritated.

Izar snickered, pausing, before gasping. "No…" his eyes watched as Dumbledore sneered before morphing into a toad head. "You're a bloody toad!"

"I beg your pardon?" His companion questioned dangerously.

Izar eyed the long black hair coming from the toad's head and stared at it quizzically. "When did toads grow fur? I never read about such a spectacle…"

The toad's eyes turned upward in exasperation. "Who knew you had such an overactive imagination, love?" The toad leaned closer, gently taking Izar's face in his flippers and placing cold lips to his forehead. Only, it wasn't as disgusting as Izar thought it would be. It felt like real lips, cold lips, but real nonetheless. "Go to sleep, Izar."

Izar felt his eyelids begin to droop and he caught blazing crimson eyes before he blinked off into oblivion.

"Tom…" Izar whispered hoarsely, dozing off. "Don't let the toads kill me."

"Never."

**{Death of Today}**

All Izar could remember were colorful visions and hot and cold. He was never comfortable and he was never without a vision of dancing animals and talking toads. He had dreams that he and Voldemort got matching robes, robes that looked suspiciously like the one's Dumbledore wore at the Weighing of the Wand ceremony. Waving moons and all.

After what felt like ages, Izar opened his eyes, happy to be grounded into real life. There were no Basilisks dancing with Acromantulas and more importantly, there were no waving moons.

Izar breathed deeply through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth. He blinked once again, studying his surroundings. It was horribly dark and dingy, a far cry from Hogwarts' infirmary. The bronze bedposts were rusty and covered full of soot. The heavy drapes were pulled across the window, blocking any sunlight that wished to glimpse through.

Leisurely, Izar sat up, his head spinning just a bit. Beside the bed, he eyed the basin and cloth. He remembered his forehead being washed and soothing hands reassuring him. Without meaning to, he flushed at the tips of his ears as he recalled bits and pieces of Voldemort nearby. So the Dark Lord had been taking care of him. But why _here_?

He just prayed, to whatever god, that he hadn't said or done anything too horribly.

Izar's bare feet touched the wood floor as he shakily stood from bed. A simple black cloak dressed his frame and he wondered at the mere size of it. It pooled to the ground and the arms lengthened past his hands by a couple of inches. It must have been the Dark Lord's.

Charcoal-green eyes looked interestedly at his fingers, observing quickly that the ring the Dark Lord had given him was absent from his middle finger. Odd…

Izar furrowed his brows and slowly walked out the door to his room. He used the wall as support as he slowly shuffled down the long corridor. The hallway was just as dingy as the room he woke up in. It would be impossible to see if it wasn't for the few candles mounted on the walls. He eyed the oil painting above his head, taking in the appearance of the subject. A shock of dark hair and aristocratic features met his scrutiny. That arrogant smirk looked oddly familiar…

"My father," a voice whispered in the shadows.

Izar stiffened suddenly, a wash of cold sweat beading across his forehead at the shock. His eyes searched for the figure he knew to be nearby, but could only see a faint outline of the Dark Lord in the shadows. He couldn't even sense the man's magic… it made Izar on edge as he tried to remember what happened.

Izar cleared his throat, well too aware that he, himself, was clearly visible to the man's eyes from the light of the candle. "Your father?" Izar questioned; his voice hoarse. He turned to look back up at the painting, too afraid to admit that Voldemort looked remarkably like the man. If he admitted it out loud, the Dark Lord would most likely hex Izar back into bed. "The Muggle father you killed when you were sixteen?"

A sinister chuckle issued from the cloaked figure. "The very same," the man conceded. "Good memory."

Izar stared up at Riddle Senior, trying to gather the courage to just ask. Surely the man wouldn't bite off his head. "What happened, My Lord?" Izar sighed softly, turning away from the smirking portrait and toward a man that was no doubt giving a mirrored smirk similar to that of his late father. "In the Tournament? Why am I here… in your late father's home?"

_And why are you hiding yourself? _

"A good question, Izar, one I'm sure you can answer yourself. _Think_. Severus was the only one amongst your Headmaster and I to figure out what the substance was that affected you, but I'm sure, my little prodigy, that you can figure it out just as quick as he could."

Izar grinned lightly at the term _'my little prodigy'_ but forced himself to put his mind back on track. "I remember getting finished with battling the Acromantulas…"

"Rather brilliantly, may I add?" Voldemort interrupted softly, praising him.

Izar's chest warmed at the praise. "Thank you, sir." His Dark Mark tinged pleasantly and Izar cleared his throat once again. "I was crouching to get my bag of vials… and then I remembered feeling a magical source approach me from behind."

"Because of your magical sensitivity," Voldemort reasoned with Izar. "Tell me, child, would you remember the magic you encountered if you were faced with it again?"

"No," Izar shook his head, certain. "The magic I sense varies by intensity, not by magical signature I'm afraid. Dumbledore and you are more powerful amongst many, and that affects me more than others. I can also tell someone's mood by their magic. If you're angry, I can feel your magic mirroring your emotions."

"Incredible," the man remarked. "But it's a pity you wouldn't identify your attacker." Voldemort's voice came out icy. "Please, continue."

Izar gave a light shrug as his mind flashed back toward the Tournament. "I turned to get a face full of dust, a lavender colored dust." His brows furrowed and he tried to remember. "It was glowing, I remember that. I breathed it in because I was about to cast a curse to the attacker behind me. And after that…nothing." Izar paused before he looked up at Voldemort, eager. "The Watchful, surely you all—,"

"Your Watchful was manipulated and attacked. Rather conveniently, Lukas Steinar's Watchful blinked out moments before your own. We did not see anything worth mentioning."

"The dust," Izar continued; his mind racing. "I've read about this sort of thing before." The side-affects were hallucinations and fever. The dust itself was purple and glowing, a rare magical color amongst plants. With the exception of…

"_Devils Venenum," _Izar exclaimed, his eyes widening. "It would explain the hallucinations and why I was brought here, to a Muggle residence." He hesitated. "If I had never told you I was magic sensitive, I would be—,"

"Dead."

The hairs on Izar's neck stood at the man's sharp tone. "And your lack of magic? The Muggle friendly atmosphere would explain why my ring is missing. Only you would be able to take if off…"

"And it will be going back on as soon as you are healthy." Voldemort left no room for argument. "As far as my magical core goes, you are probably aware of the various spells involved to removing one's magic. I bottled it up and hid it among the house under multiple of protection spells. Becoming Muggle was the only option I had to watch over you."

Izar remained silent. He knew how important magic was to Voldemort and he was truly grateful that the man had taken him under his wing. But Izar was also curious. It _burned _him to know Voldemort's reasoning. Surely he didn't impress Voldemort _that _much with his magical power. After all, Voldemort first saw Izar at the Ministry ball during the summer. The man had been oblivious to the fact that Izar had been an Unspeakable and a prodigy.

So what, exactly, drew the man to Izar?

The man claimed it was the way Izar held himself. And he also claimed it was something else, something he wouldn't tell Izar then.

What _was _it?

"I hope you don't mind if I absorb my magic," Voldemort spoke, interrupting Izar's train of thoughts. "You seem better. The dust is out of your system. If you find yourself seeing hallucinating, don't hesitate to inform me and I will remove my magic as quick as possible. In the meantime, I want you to get back to bed. You need to sleep."

Izar's sharp eyes watched as Voldemort stayed within the shadows, careful not to expose his face to Izar. It was uncanny. Could the man have been hiding something else under his glamour? Something Izar has yet to see? Rather ironic, to have a glamour underneath a glamour, yet also worrisome.

Izar nodded; turning and shuffling back to his room. He paused before entering, keeping his back turned to the Dark Lord. "Thank you," Izar whispered. "For looking after me and not bringing me to the orphanage."

"Think nothing of it," Voldemort murmured in understanding. Only the Dark Lord would understand Izar's fear of returning to the orphanage without prior knowledge. The man's voice was slowly becoming distant as he moved down the corridor. "At any rate, it was rather amusing to listen to you babble. It kept me most entertained."

Izar's eyes widened as he hurried inside the bedroom and onto his bed. Surely he hadn't said too many things?

As his mind raced, Izar found himself falling asleep despite his refusal to surrender to slumber.

Before he fell asleep, he felt a burst of magic wash through the house. A light smile played his lips as he was comforted by the Dark Lord's magic.

Odd… the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he _was _conscious to someone's different magical signature. Or, at least Voldemort's.

**{Death of Today}**

"Don't look so gloom," Voldemort chided softly that afternoon at dinner. Izar sat across from the man, staring at his plate of food.

Izar straightened in his seat, trying to burry away his sour emotions. He had been thinking about countless of issues that afternoon in bed. Voldemort had ordered Izar in bed all day. What else could Izar do but to _think? _It wasn't good for him to sit and dwell, especially because he began thinking of things he wanted to avoid; such as the ring now presently on his finger, Regulus, the Task, the Dark Mark, and the Dark Lord's secrecy.

It was a bloody mess.

Issuing a light sigh, Izar blinked over at the _Prophet _which sat in the middle of the table. "I'm in last place, aren't I?" His eyes rose from the paper, just slightly, to glance at a scrutinizing Dark Lord. "How many points behind am I from the others?"

Voldemort gave him a long, searching stare. The man knew Izar's mind was _not _preoccupied with the Tournament's status. Nonetheless, he answered brusquely. "Each Champion was rewarded ten points for each item recovered. Each minute the Champion lasted in the Task, the judges took off one point from their score. Cyprien Beaumont is in the lead with eighty five points, Lukas Steinar received eighty points and you received seventy." Voldemort read off from the paper in front of him.

Izar grimaced. "And how did they determine my score if I didn't finish?"

"You had nine items in your bag at the time of the attack, which would have given you ninety points. However, like the other Champions, they needed to subtract the time lapse. They estimated you would have taken twenty minutes if you hadn't gone to search for the runespoors. They were rather generous. It also took the Durmstrang boy twenty minutes to complete his Task."

Izar offered a snort. "And the next Task has to do with dueling? Brilliant," Izar quipped sardonically. How would he bloody win the Tournament if he couldn't even duel?

"Your confidence is utterly remarkable," Voldemort stated. His tone was just as dry as Izar's was. "From what I've gathered, you are doing very well with Professor Black." Crimson eyes taunted Izar. The Ravenclaw was more aware of the ring on his finger than ever.

"He's told you?" Izar questioned, surprised. He wouldn't have thought Sirius Black would willingly speak to Tom Riddle; even if it was just the politician. His uncle was a bit dense at times, but Izar was sure he was just as suspicious of Riddle as Dumbledore was. After all, Sirius was close to the Headmaster. _Surely_ the two shared their deepest, darkest secrets… That was laugh worthy.

"No," Voldemort chuckled lightly, the laugh not sounding comforting. "I've been watching your lessons with him." He said, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Izar swallowed, looking down at his plate to hide his horror. "Have you?" Izar asked calmly, no sign of his dismay in his tone. He wouldn't even ask _how _the man was observing the lessons when Izar had never been prone to his presence.

"Naturally," the man drawled.

Naturally.

Right.

Izar studied the man through lowered lashes. The attack happened yesterday in the afternoon. All through yesterday and last night, Izar struggled through visions and hallucinations. Today was spent in bed under the watchful eye of Voldemort. The man wanted Izar to get used to his magic and watch for any signs of a relapse.

It hadn't happened.

Today, Voldemort appeared like his Dark Lord persona. Izar had thought it was the man's _true _appearance, but after the night before, he wondered what else the man was hiding. Black hair, pale skin, bright crimson eyes, and a thin body… wasn't that what his appearance really looked like? The man was immortal, forever frozen at the young age of… thirty? What was there to hide?

The man looked up from his plate of dinner, catching Izar's inspection.

Izar straightened, clearing his throat. "You're a celebrity," Izar commented lazily as he stared down at the _Prophet_. He was well aware of the taunting smirk crossing Voldemort's lips at his sudden change in topic. From across the table, Izar studied the photo of Tom Riddle, the politician, smiling charmingly at the crowd right before Izar's Task. Izar was pictured next to the man, looking utterly uncomfortable at the attention. He grimaced at his smile, wondering where the _hell _Riddle learned how to smile so brilliantly. "They think you are a Saint for taking me in and _nursing _me back to health."

Izar looked up at the _Prophet_, observing the Dark Lord as the man sipped at his tea. Red eyes danced merrily as they eyed Izar across the table.

"They have no business knowing I took you away, only to have my wicked way with you," the Dark Lord offered a malevolent smirk before his eyes fell on Izar's plate. "Eat."

Izar's chest tightened with the man's remark, not naïve enough to miss the truth to the man's comment. There was something_ there_ in the obvious remark, almost a seductive promise. Izar stared down at his plate, wondering why his belly felt both hot and sickened. He couldn't be…aroused at the thought of the Dark Lord's promise, could he? However shameful he felt, he couldn't deny the mere excitement at the thought of the Dark Lord touching him intimately.

Sex was never the forefront of Izar's mind like it was the rest of his classmates. He never had time to wonder what it would be like to have _fun _in that way. It never interested him. But somehow… he got a tight sensation in his stomach at the thought of having the Dark Lord close enough to place his lips on his neck, or having the man's skillful fingers linger across his skin. It was sort of like a sick thrill.

But Izar was also sickened. The man most likely did this to his other followers. He played with their minds and feelings, igniting a longing in his Death Eaters that made his followers only crave more. Little did they know they would never receive that intimate touch they craved so badly. That's how the Dark Lord played. He was vicious enough to make his followers _crave _attention, and in turn, they would be unreservedly loyal as he took them for granted.

Izar had to remember that he was favored, yes, but he also had to remember that he was only fifteen. The Dark Lord would most certainly not be interested in him sexually. It was just a game to him. Not only would Voldemort be looked down upon by many of his followers for bedding a declared 'Mudblood' who happened to be a school_boy_, but Izar would also refuse any advances from the older man.

Yes, he shamefully admitted he would be thrilled. But he was too logical to accept a sexual relationship with a bloody _Dark Lord_.

Izar was fiercely independent. He was already reminded of his enslavement to the Dark Lord through the Dark Mark and the bloody _ring _on his finger. Just thinking of allowing the man more leeway over his freedom in terms of sex would put Izar over the edge.

He would never do it. And that, he was certain.

"What's on your mind?" Voldemort taunted, sipping at his tea and searching Izar's expression from over the rim of his cup.

"Nothing," Izar spoke impassively, his face closed off entirely. He was angry with himself for falling for the Dark Lord's mind games. "I only wondered at your political gain for taking me in. A mere child, the poor, unfortunate orphan who was thrown into the Tournament by mistake… and Undersecretary Riddle comes to the rescue as he nurtures the poor boy back to life at the risk of his own magic, his own vulnerability." Izar stabbed his potato. "My… you must be the bee's knees of many women."

A lipless smile curled Voldemort's lips and the man looked absolutely _delighted_. "Bee's knees, Izar? My poor child, you must be affected by the Headmaster's close proximity. Soon, I fear, you may be sucking on lemon drops and engaging Muggles in a well-mannered conversation."

Izar was sickened at the imagery _that _entitled.

"But you are correct, to some extent," Voldemort agreed. "I need to look appealing to the public. It took me many years to get to where I am today. I need to keep up appearances with my spectators."

Izar gave a sharp nod. It was about appearances. And it was all about possessions.

"However, that doesn't mean I took you in just because of my image. You needed someone who took your safety seriously. You wouldn't find such concern with filthy _Muggles_." Voldemort's lip curled in disgust as his eyes focused elsewhere.

"Who do you think did it?" Izar asked innocently. "The _Devil's Venenum _is native only to Asia. It wasn't as if a bloody plant apparated from Asia to walk up behind me to scatter the dust."

Voldemort gave a deep hum, his gaze on the paper in front of him. "I wouldn't know who attacked you."

Izar blinked, losing his appetite. The man knew something, perhaps everything, and he wasn't sharing it with him. "Is that so?" Izar drawled, motivated. "And when, exactly, are you planning to come out to the public, My Lord? Surely, with this Tournament, you have something in mind, something _flashy _and devastating."

Voldemort's crimson eyes shot up to Izar. A cool calm washed his features. "Mind your tongue." The man may have been calm, yet his eyes were far from laid back. They pierced right through Izar's core.

His jaw clenched before he continued quietly. "I think I have a right to know your plans, My Lord, after all, they involve me. Someone wants to get back at _you_, don't they? They didn't want to attack me yesterday; they just wanted to get at you. Somehow, they know you entered my name into the Goblet and they think they can get at you through me." Voldemort continued to gaze at Izar blankly.

No words were said and Izar already knew he had stepped over the boundaries. He slumped back against his chair, his lips sealed. He knew he pushed a bit too far and he was suffering because of it. The Dark Mark on his left forearm was a steady burn of pain and the crimson eyes staring at him was just as uncomfortable.

"As I have told you before," Voldemort began softly, controlling his rage beautifully. "I don't need to tell you _anything_. I am your Master and you are my follower. Any plans I make do not need to be passed through your approval. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, My Lord," Izar responded quietly, lowering his eyes in submission.

The Dark Lord's chair gave a stiffened groan as the man stood. With slow and calculated strides, Voldemort leisurely approached Izar. The Ravenclaw was rigid and he flinched as a cool finger brushed his cheek. Voldemort tsked disapprovingly at his flinch, before quickly grabbing a good hold of Izar's jaw. The familiar shock at their contact ran the length of Izar's skin, but he was too familiar with it to react outwardly.

He was turned to forcibly meet Voldemort's gaze. He stared into the crimson eyes, realizing that the man's pupils were split. Funny, he remembered reading about the causes of split pupils before. It was true that excessive Dark Magic caused one's eyes to turn red, but the Arts never disfigured the pupils. What, exactly, did he read about? He had forgotten. It seemed trivial at the time he was reading it.

"Don't assume you are mere bait, child. It is an insult to me if you believe I don't take your safety seriously." The Dark Lord's rage was slowly dissipating. The burn in Izar's Mark was all but a small twinge. "Truthfully, I entered your name in the Goblet because I believed, and still do so, that you are the only wizard at Hogwarts who can stand a chance against the French and Norwegians."

Izar sat stiffly as Voldemort's opposite hand reached out to run through his hair. Had he not just thought of the scenario of the man's wandering hands? It was just as Izar thought it would be. Thrilling.

Yet his face was emotionless as Voldemort's tapered fingers tugged at his hair in almost an affectionate gesture. "You will remain oblivious to my plans for the Tournament. I want your head to be focused on the Tasks, not on the plot behind the scenes." The man, for good measure, tapped Izar's temple. Suddenly, Riddle dropped his hands from Izar's face before he leaned closer, his breath tickling Izar's ear. "You will be avenged for yesterday's attack. I promise you that."

As Riddle pulled back, Izar was greeted with a chilling smile.

"Now, finish your dinner. After which, we will return to Hogwarts."

The man swept from the room, leaving Izar alone. He sat there, frozen. Why did he feel as if he just got manipulated? He frowned, blinking. The man was trying to pull him away from thinking about the Tournament. It proved Izar's suspicions correct that Riddle knew everything transpiring. The man was _all knowing_. So why couldn't Izar be told? Why did he always feel torn for what he felt about the Dark Lord? The man was bloody perplexing. Izar respected the man, even more so for what the Dark Lord did for him these last few days, but there were other times he hated the man.

If he was so _favored _by the Dark Lord, why couldn't he know of the events happening around him? There were just so many things he was in the dark about. When would he be trusted enough to learn of his own bloody life?

His eyes fell on his middle finger, studying the black titanium ring he still didn't know the properties to.

Sighing noisily, he placed his face in his open hand. Sometimes he wondered why the hell he was putting himself through all this.

**{Death of Today}**

"He recovered _magnificently,_" Riddle chorused delightfully in front of the reporters.

Izar blinked as the bulbs from the cameras flashed. A possessive hand curled around his shoulders, bringing him close to the taller body beside him. He thought he was going to vomit at Riddle's feet from the man's sugary tone of voice and that god awful smile.

"It took Mr. Harrison only two days to recover, from what I thought would take a good week. It just goes to show how determined this young man is." Riddle tightened his hold on Izar, almost hugging him close. It was possibly a warning for Izar to _smile _or it could have been Riddle's show of affection to the press.

Izar remembered viewing his smile in the _Daily Prophet _and decided he would settle with a soft smirk instead.

They all talked at once, Rita Skeeter among the group. She looked irritated at the many wizards talking over her. Izar watched her in amusement as one of the other reporters' elbows flew in her direction. White curls sprang from her pins and her glasses were knocked askew as she tried to avoid the flying elbow.

They were all an amusing sort of group. He could see why Riddle found it entertaining to play with them.

One of the men's voices raised above all the others as he thrust his wand in front of Izar's face. "And you, Mr. Harrison, what is your take on the attack?"

Izar blinked, his expression easily controlled. Voldemort had warned him on the way to Hogwarts not to speak of the attack. If he did so, do it vaguely. Talking about the attack would have to be done by a more skilled dancer in the political field and Voldemort told Izar, straightforwardly, that he was _not _a dancer as of yet.

The reporters' voices died down, their eager quills dancing in their fingers as they awaited Izar's comment. "I'm going to try to put the events of the attack behind me in favor of focusing on the Second Task. I'm just _very _thankful of Senior Undersecretary Riddle for looking after me in my vulnerable state. I cannot, truly, express my gratitude for his excellent and professional care."

Sarcasm was just _dripping _from his voice and he knew Voldemort would pick up on it just as easily as Izar delivered it.

The man chuckled, his fingers digging into Izar's shoulder.

"And who, Mr. Harrison, in your opinion, do you think is behind this attack?"

"I think Mr. Harrison has had enough excitement for one day, ladies and gentlemen," a voice rumbled its way through the crowd. Izar caught sight of the vibrant yellow robes of Dumbledore. Next to him, he heard Voldemort give an almost inaudible hiss. Hearing the hiss, Izar couldn't help but to compare it to the mother Ashwinder as she guarded her nest.

They were all standing in front of the gates of Hogwarts. The press wasn't allowed to enter the immediate grounds of Hogwarts without permission. So, they did the next best thing and waited outside the gates for Riddle and Izar to arrive.

Dumbledore had just exited the gates, his eyes directed on Izar. Izar tried to hide his horrified shiver. Seeing the Headmaster's robes reminded him of his hallucinations. It made it worse that there were a few, happy wasps flying about at the hems of his robes. Izar would have nightmares, surely.

Dumbledore always looked so merry, no matter his mood. Izar supposed it was similar to Riddle's mask. Only, Riddle had an eerie calm or fake politeness and Dumbledore was always cheerful. "I'm sure Mr. Riddle will be happy to stay behind and answer a few of your questions."

The Headmaster reached over and gently guided Izar with a hand to his shoulder. He didn't get far. Riddle kept his hold on Izar, not allowing Dumbledore to drag Izar away from him. Izar watched as a sinister smile crossed Riddle's face before he finally let Izar go.

Being a toy between the two powerful wizards was never a good thing. Izar walked with Dumbledore to the gates of Hogwarts with a funny feeling in his chest. He glanced behind him, searching Riddle as the man was cornered with the press. Dumbledore must have done that on purpose. He purposely suggested Riddle stay behind… why?

"Are you feeling better, Mr. Harrison?" Dumbledore questioned lowly as they walked up to the castle doors. It was dark outside, almost after dinner. Many of the windows to the castle were lightened, giving it an at ease feeling.

"Truly, I feel fine. He…he did a decent job," Izar spoke, a bit irritated with the arm still on his shoulder. He had never encountered a manipulative Dumbledore before. He had always heard the man liked to pull strings, but Izar had never experienced it personally. Looking at the man's weathered face and twinkling blue eyes, Izar could easily see Dumbledore as being an incredibly skilled manipulator. The man came off as innocent and kind, a man whom someone sought after to place their trust in.

"I would have thought your recovery would have taken longer," the Headmaster continued as they entered the castle. Its magic and warmth nudged at Izar, relaxing him. "Are you certain you are better?"

Izar took a deep breath, smelling the odor of rich meats and freshly baked bread. The sound of dishes clashing further down the hall signified that dinner was still being served. "If you're trying to hint that Undersecretary Riddle was just eager to absorb his magic again, no, that wasn't the case. He waited to place his magic back until I was decent enough to taste magic once again."

Dumbledore blinked; a deep frown on his lips before he smiled. "That's not I was hinting at, my boy. I just wanted to make sure you were one hundred percent," the man patted his shoulder as he led him down an opposite corridor.

"Where are we going, Headmaster?" Izar asked suspiciously. They were entering the corridor near the Trophy room, not too far from the Great Hall.

"I'm afraid we must make a quick stop with the other judges, Mr. Harrison. They are concerned with your wellbeing and they also want to bring up a much needed topic about the Tournament." Dumbledore's strides widened and Izar tried to keep up without looking too ungraceful.

"Surely you want the other judges there?" Izar demanded softly. "Mr. Riddle is back with the press—,"

"Here we are," Dumbledore opened the door to a small, unused classroom. Izar looked at the man's small smile before entering the room reluctantly. It was small, most definitely. Madame Maxime and Headmaster Karkaroff were sitting toward the back of the room, their expressions clearly revealing they didn't want to be there. The French Minister, Serge Roux, looked just as bored, but also a bit intrigued as he sat near the empty chair in the front.

And then there was a pacing Minister Steinar. Bjørn stopped moving as soon as Izar entered, a murderous expression crossing his face.

Izar was unimpressed. He flashed the judges a cool look before walking toward the single chair. It was faced _toward _the room, toward the judges, so he assumed it was for this… interrogating. He sat down arrogantly, raising his eyebrows at the adults as if he had other places to go.

Dumbledore shut the door, his face solemn. "May I just express that we are happy to have you, Mr. Harrison? It's good to see you healthy," Dumbledore started, the ever crowd pleaser.

Izar gave a small hum, less than tickled.

"Get on with it, Dumbledore, we don't have all night," Karkaroff growled, his rotting teeth flashing in a grimace. "Question the boy and get it over with."

Minister Steinar glowered across the room at the Durmstrang Headmaster. "We've set up this meeting to question you about your motives, boy," Steinar continued despondently. "That was very advanced magic you conjured during the First Task, _Dark magic, _but also very advanced."

Izar nodded, blank. "Yes, sir," he responded dully. "Is that all?"

Steinar's lip lifted in distaste. "Of course not, you insolent—,"

"Minister Steinar," Dumbledore interrupted calmly. He raised his bushy eyebrows toward the Norwegian Minister before coolly turning to Izar. He grabbed two textbooks on the table near the door just on his way toward Izar. Charcoal-green eyes examined the books in his hands, not close enough to catch what they were. "We don't wish to intimidate or accuse you too strongly, Izar." Here, the French Minister snorted.

"_My book_!" Izar exclaimed in fury once he caught sight of the old leather tome. "What are you doing with my possessions? Or more importantly, why did you go through my things?" In Dumbledore's hands was his book, the _Eruditio, _the very same one Voldemort had given him for his fifteenth birthday.

"You see, Albus, he even admits it," Bjørn's hand flicked through the air in disgust. "He framed my son."

"Excuse me?" Izar questioned icily.

"A Durmstrang student found this book in Lukas Steinar's cabin, Izar." Dumbledore handed the other textbook to Izar.

Izar stared at it uncomprehendingly. "I've never seen this book before," Izar declared. He flipped quickly through the crinkled pages, noticing it was a Dark Arts book. "And as much as you'd like to accuse me, I've never read it before either." He paused, considering. "However, I wouldn't _mind _reading it… I hardly come across a true Dark Arts book—,"

"Liar." Minster Steinar hissed.

"Said Durmstrang student was afraid to go to Minister Steinar with the book, so they approached me with it. I looked over it and noticed a very peculiar observation." Dumbledore flipped through the pages until he came to a section where the corner of a page was bent. Izar grimaced. He hated it when individuals mutated books like that.

Dumbledore creased open the book, revealing it to Izar. The Ravenclaw had to squint in order to see the article on the _Devil's Venenum_. Someone used a lot of ink as they circled the article, a clear sign they had been interested in it.

Izar felt the shift of magic. The temperature dropped a few degrees creating small goose bumps on Izar's arms. His eyes caught sight of the door quietly opening to emit the Dark Lord. No one noticed his entrance and Izar wasn't going to point him out.

"A student found this in Lukas' room," Izar reasoned. "Someone had clearly circled the section about the _Devil's Venenum_," Izar gave a small chuckle. "And you're accusing me of what exactly? Isn't it obvious that it was Lukas who had this book in his possession and had circled the section himself?"

"Not necessarily," Dumbledore started before Bjørn could interrupt. The Headmaster flipped a few more pages until he came upon another marked page. He revealed it to Izar. The Ravenclaw's heart skipped a beat. "The same spell you conjured during the Task is circled as well, faintly this time, yet it is still marked. The _Inferorum animas_, Izar. The very same spell you produced."

Indeed the page he was looking at was the _Inferorum animas. _A faint ink mark circled the passage, looking worn and studied.

Izar felt the Dark Lord stalk the outermost part of the classroom. Judging from the darkening of Dumbledore's face, the Headmaster was aware of Tom's presence as well. Izar was just relieved that the man was here.

"That isn't all," Steinar murmured passionately. "Dumbledore went through your things—,"

"Minister, I will continue on from here, thank you." Dumbledore's voice was sharp, reprimanding. Blue eyes turned back to a silent Izar. "After seeing this textbook and hearing Lukas' oath that it was not his book, I thought it best for all parties to look through your personal belongings. As a Headmaster, I have every right to do so. I did not invade your privacy; I only glanced over your books. I stumbled across this one in particular," here, Dumbledore held up the _Eruditio. _

Izar didn't understand why Dumbledore thought the book was important to the topic at hand. The book Voldemort gave him was very functional. The pages would be blank until the reader wished to study a topic. He or she would then tap their wand over the pages. And only then— would the pages begin to fill with ink at the subject at hand.

By all reasonable means, the _Eruditio's _pages should be blank.

"Open it, Mr. Harrison." Dumbledore's face was grave as he passed the book over to Izar.

Izar studied the Headmaster a moment before opening the tome. The pages were blank, as he expected, only, the book opened suddenly to the middle. Izar frowned as he spotted the clear pack of purple dust. His fingers pinched the outermost corner of the baggy and he pulled it up to his face. Inside the small bag was the same purple dust he got in his face during the First Task. _Devil's Venenum. _

"I…" Izar scoffed. "I don't understand. I carry this book everywhere, surely someone could have planted it—,"

"Lies," Steinar hissed. Behind him, the other judges looked surprised and a bit upset.

"What the bloody hell do you think I did? Scatter the dust across my own bloody face?" Izar snapped, angry.

"That's exactly what you did," Bjørn smiled excitingly. "You want to frame my son, to kick him out of this Tournament. You destroyed his Watchful before your own to create suspicion that it was Lukas who had committed the crime. And in turn, his own classmates become suspicious of him and took the initiative to look in his room. They conveniently found the book _you_ placed in his school bag, the very same book that had the _Devil's Venenum _circled inside. By all means, it looks as if Lukas was the one to commit the crime. But you didn't count on the chance that Dumbledore would find the evidence in your belongings that _you _were the one to scatter the dust across your own being in order to frame another Champion. A Champion from a school that has won every Tournament since it has been reopened."

A loud clapping sounded throughout the room before anyone could fire back.

"My, Minister, _that _is a good theory," Riddle's voice purred. "Indulge me, please, how long did it take for you to come up with it? Surely your thick mind couldn't have come up with it by your lonesome."

Bjørn's face turned brick red with anger. "What are you doing here? You weren't invited."

Riddle opened his mouth in mock surprise, glancing about the room. "I see my Champion in here, who happens to be a minor, without his mentor. Why shouldn't I be invited?"

"Mr. Harrison is the Hogwarts Champion, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore rumbled. "My attendance is all that was needed."

Despite the seriousness in the situation, Izar couldn't help but to smirk. Dumbledore, the old fool, actually had some _gonads_. It was a rather brilliant remark to make against the seemingly arrogant Tom Riddle. Just how will Riddle take it?

From the corner of his eye, Izar watched as Riddle's eyebrows rose mockingly. "Yes, but he's also _Britain's _Champion. Forgive me, but you only run a section of Hogwarts, not Britain as a whole. _I _am in charge of Britain."

Izar resisted the urge to chuckle. Doing so would show his favoritism to the conversation. It was better to remain neutral.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but that description lies with the title of the Minister, Mr. Riddle, not the Undersecretary." Dumbledore replied steely. Across the room, Minister Roux coughed politely in his hand, his heavy glasses veiling the amusement crossing his features.

Voldemort stared Roux down before turning his gaze back on Dumbledore. A cruel, lipless smile stretched his lips. "For now," the man promised silkily. "But we aren't here to speak of personal matters; we're here to listen to Minister Steinar's marvelous scheme with rapt attention. Please, continue Bjørn. So sorry to take away your moment in the spotlight, you were right in the middle of the big climax, too. Pity," the man tisked.

Izar snickered.

Red in the face, Bjørn rounded on Izar, pointing a finger at him. "I bet you're in conspiracy with your Undersecretary, isn't that right boy? He placed your name in the Goblet. I _know _it." Bjørn turned to the group of judges.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," Minister Roux exclaimed at the change of topic. "We are discussing the use of _Devil's Venenum, _not pointing fingers at who entered whom in the Tournament. I'm sure, Mr. Steinar, that we can find some conspiracy of who put _your _son's name in the Goblet."

Steinar huffed through his nose, ignoring Roux. "Riddle placed this boy's name in the Goblet because they had everything planned out already. Riddle couldn't stand another year of Britain being the lowest ranking school, the lowest ranking _nation_. So he configured a plan to set up the Norwegians. Because clearly, we are the superior school, the biggest threat to them." Steinar puffed out his chest, pride all but glowing across his features.

"Clearly?" The French Minister stood up. It was the most active Izar had ever seen the man. "And just how do you figure that?"

Bjørn flashed the French Minister a snarl. "_French_," the man spat out as if it were vile. "Thank your god that this incident transpired when it did. Otherwise, you wouldn't be in first place at the moment."

Roux flushed; his French accent thickening. "You dare? We, the French, do not need to create a conspiracy just to cover up the fact that we have lost a match. No, that lies with the _Norwegians._"

Izar sat back, observing the quarrel. Both Madame Maxime and Headmasters Karkaroff and Dumbledore were standing toward the back of the room, away from the argument. Izar realized then that this Tournament was only political. It was no longer about getting to know other students in other nations; it was about bragging rights to the politicians. It was also personal, very personal.

He looked up at Riddle, noticing the man already watching him. Judging from the haughtiness coming from Riddle, Izar assumed the man had intended for this to happen. Riddle winked at Izar before holding out his hand. Bemused, Izar looked at his lap, noticing the _Eruditio_. He grabbed the leather tome and passed it to the Dark Lord.

The Undersecretary took the book before opening it up to the packet of _Devil's Venenum. _He eyed the substance thoughtfully before placing it in his pocket. Long fingers tapped his pocket gleefully before handing the book back to Izar.

The man smirked, brushing his fingers tenderly across the back of Izar's neck. He stiffened at the contact, an odd feeling tightening his stomach.

"If I may interrupt," Riddle started, silencing the two bickering men. All eyes turned to the tallest man in the room. The fingers dropped from Izar's neck as Riddle took a step forward. "Considering we are not getting anywhere with the subject at hand, I think we should dismiss this meeting. There is no hard evidence. A student or an adult could have placed the _Devil's Venenum _in Mr. Harrison's book. As he said before, he carries it around everywhere."

Minister Bjørn Steinar seethed.

"As far as your Champion goes, Mr. Steinar, it could have been the same scenario. We don't have any idea why someone would want to create such an upset. This situation, however, does call for a closer eye on our students' safety."

"You are correct, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore stepped forward, the wasps on his robes buzzing merrily. Izar eyed them distrustfully. "Let us disband until further evidence is collected."

It was almost like a race to get out of the classroom. Madame Maxime scrambled out first, ducking her head before she crossed the exit. Minister Roux left shortly after with Headmaster Karkaroff and Dumbledore at his heels. Minister Steinar hesitated, his handsome features contorting fiercely. "I'm watching you two," the man whispered threateningly. Riddle just smiled pleasantly. "You will not get at my son."

The man left in a swirl of robes.

"A rather… enjoyable evening," Izar observed as soon as the judges had escaped. Riddle chuckled softly in agreement.

The man's hand reached toward him again, only this time, Izar knew he wasn't asking for the book. Hesitating, just momentarily, he placed his own hand in Riddle's. The man curled his fingers around Izar's hand before assisting him in standing. As Izar stood, he was more than aware of the larger hand still holding his.

"You need to get a good nights rest," Riddle ordered. "And I expect you come to me if you start to relapse. Though," the man began, a light smile playing his face. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had nightmares over Dumbledore's most recent robes. The man's garments seemed to be your favored hallucinations at my Muggle father's home. That and toads."

Izar grinned, glad to note he wasn't the only one who was disturbed by the old man's robes.

Riddle dropped Izar's hands in favor of reaching up toward Izar's hair. He tugged at a stray curl. "I enjoyed our time together," he purred. "I only wished it could have been on less serious terms."

"I'll try not to poison myself beforehand, I suppose." Izar spoke mockingly, a bit affected by the man's proximity. "We can't have them figuring out our plan, can we?"

Riddle dropped his hand, a lethal smile appearing on his face. Izar was taken aback at the true wickedness behind it. Charmed brown eyes gleamed excitingly behind Riddle's glasses as the man tapped Izar's cheek. "No, we can't have that."

With one last light tap to his cheek, Riddle swept from the room as silently as he had entered.

Izar stared at the spot where Riddle had once stood.

Merlin.


	17. Part I Chapter 17

**{Notes} **Thanks for all of your reviews last chapter. In form of a review-reply, here is the next chapter…

**Chapter Seventeen **

It was finally quiet in the halls as he lazily walked toward Professor Black's classroom. After dinner was study time for the majority of the castle, and luckily, Black's classroom was far away from the boisterous Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. He had a headache from today's constant blabbering. Izar had hoped today, the day after he arrived back at Hogwarts, would have been a day back into his routine. He had classes, something that would take him away from all his problems.

How foolish he had been…

The students hadn't shut up about the attack. They had been bright eyed as they stared at Izar in the halls, enamored at the very sight of his presence. But they just didn't stop there. They approached him and asked him what it was like to be in Undersecretary Riddle's care, what it was like in the forest, who he thought attacked him. It was a list of endless questions and luckily, Daphne had been at his side for the majority of the day. She had calmed him whenever he wanted to flee and she had also warded off the students who weren't _deserved _enough to be by him.

He had also caught sight of two students throughout the day that had been a constant ache to his side.

Draco and Granger. With the blonde boy, Izar would always catch the boy gazing at him from across the hall or classroom with a bit of yearning. Whenever Draco noticed Izar watching, he had looked away, a steadfast frown on his face. Izar also didn't miss the envious stares Daphne was getting from his cousin, either.

And then there was Granger. She was just as bad as Draco. The Mudblood was silently watching him, observing him with her upturned nose. If anyone didn't have any business in his personal life, it was _her_. Izar knew that look in her eyes. She thought she knew everything happening around her, as if it were obvious. Izar had once worn that expression earlier in his years. But that was before he realized life wasn't cut into black and white.

Izar was happy to have a one-on-one session with his dear uncle. Sirius wasn't entirely as bad as Izar imagined the man to be. His uncle was usually quiet and collected, teaching Izar remarkably well. Other times, the man tried to issue a sly joke that Izar blinked at dully, not amused. The man had left the issue with Regulus alone ever since Izar had denied any claim to the Black family. However, his uncle continued to stare at Izar with a dazed expression on his face.

It was all irritating.

He came to a stop in front of the DADA classroom and paused. He wondered if Voldemort was here today. The man had bluntly claimed he had watched his interactions with Sirius before. Surely the man had better things to do today than to watch Izar fall flat on his face at dueling? Or, at least Izar hoped so.

Raising his knuckles, he paused to eye his left hand. Because classes resumed so quickly, Izar had _yet _to read about the ring. He planned to do it right after his private lesson with Sirius. But until he did so, he decided to wear a fingerless leather glove on his left hand. The glove had just the right amount of material to hide the ring from prying eyes. He wouldn't have bothersome _children _ask after it.

Blowing hot air through his mouth, he knocked irritably.

"Come in," Sirius called distractively from the other side.

Izar entered the classroom, noticing another figure sitting with Sirius behind his desk. For a moment, Izar had trouble distinguishing between Sirius and the guest. The other guest was smaller and had shorter hair. Perhaps that was why Izar had trouble realizing it was Regulus. The man looked a lot cleaner cut— far more worthy of the Head of Black family of aristocrats then the last time Izar had seen him. Sitting next to Sirius, Izar saw even more differences and fewer similarities.

Izar hissed between his teeth, feeling something coil in his chest at the sight of his father. There had been too many things happening to really think about the consequences of taking Voldemort's bribe, by sparing a man he didn't even know. A part of Izar knew he had avoided thinking of Regulus for a long while just because he hadn't wanted to think of his brash decision to save his life. A man who had never bothered to enter his life before.

_He didn't know you existed… _

Izar shook his head, turning his back on both Sirius and Regulus. He was about to make it out the door until it slammed shut in his face.

"Izar," Regulus called after him, a hint of desperation.

Izar stayed rigidly in place. Behind him, the sound of someone approaching him met his ears. From the poised and refined steps, Izar assumed it was Regulus. Sirius had more of an arrogant swagger and a rough step. Warm hands took him by the shoulders, turning him around.

Izar was engulfed in a strong embrace. His head was forced to stay in place as Regulus kissed his temple before pushing Izar's forehead into his shoulder. He was weak to accept such a personal greeting, but somehow, Regulus' touch was his undoing. Hating himself, he found his body unconsciously leaning into Regulus. The man only tightened his hold in return.

"I'm so glad you're alright," the man murmured into his ear, his arms still tight around Izar. With one last squeeze, Regulus stepped back, keeping his hands on Izar's shoulders. His vivid charcoal eyes studied Izar, looking for any disfigurements. "I have to express my delight over your performance the other day. You were magnificent." Regulus smiled smugly. "I only wished it hadn't ended so unpleasantly."

Izar attempted a smile; it came out as a grimace. Over Regulus' shoulder, he eyed Sirius. The man was surprisingly cool and collected for finding out his younger brother was alive. The man winked at Izar as he caught his eyes.

Izar looked away, toward the students' empty desks. "Does Professor Snape know you went to Voldemort?" Izar questioned softly, too quietly for Sirius to hear.

Regulus' hands slid from Izar's shoulders. The moment of joy was washed heavily from his expression. "He does." Charcoal eyes dropped to Izar's hand. Regulus paled; his body stiff. "I… _he_ found my weakness and he exploited it as skillfully as any Dark Lord could. Izar, my son, you did not need to take the ring. I would have gladly suffered—,"

"I don't want to talk about it," Izar snapped coldly. He curled his left hand further up in his sleeve. "You know about the ring? He told you?" Izar accused.

Regulus looked truly abashed. "He did. I only feel worse that you accepted his bribe."

"I spared your life," Izar hissed coolly. "He was going to kill you otherwise."

Warm hands gently touched his cheeks. "And I am forever in your debt because of your sacrifice, Izar. I never intended for my actions fifteen years ago to be turned on to you, the most innocent one out of all of us involved. It was… almost if he was waiting for a chance to blackmail you with the ring. I would have thought, by going to him directly, that it would spare both you and Severus. He already knew about my survival those many years ago. He was just _waiting _patiently for me to approach him." Regulus explained quietly. Sirius stood up, crossing the room. Regulus must have noticed, for he quickly asked. "Do you know what the ring does? Did you tell you?"

"No," Izar ripped his face from Regulus' hands. He was being harsh on Regulus, he knew, but he was too weighed down by everything to care.

Regulus reluctantly kept his hands away from Izar. His face was just as haunted as it was the day Izar saw him in Hog's Head. He knew the man was carrying the guilt of his actions. And Izar also knew Regulus believed it was his fault Izar had the ring.

At the present, Izar was too on edge to convince him otherwise.

"I've come here to talk to you about Lily," Regulus started once Sirius was in earshot. "I am slowly growing influence in the Ministry again. And the Black properties are being reopened for our use once you have decided to publicly declare me as your father." Regulus informed.

_For our use. _Izar turned his head away, feeling his heart contrast. Everything was going too fast.

He felt lightheaded.

But Regulus continued, not noticing Izar's lack of control.

"I came here to speak to Sirius. I told him about discovering you as my son and about Lily's involvement."

"I don't even know about all that," Izar informed, a bit insulted. "I thought Sirius was friends with Lily and James Potter. Why would you go to him?" Izar had thought, obviously wrongly, that Sirius and Regulus never got along. Apparently, something in the past had changed their relationship.

"I was," Sirius spoke for Regulus while his father favored watching him in worry. The man's eyebrows creased in concern. Was Izar not hiding his emotions well enough? Or was Regulus just good at reading people? "There were some issues—,"

"We will speak of that later," Regulus interrupted softly. "I need to tell you about Lily, Izar. She's moving about. I have been informed that Lily has been in the shadows for nearly fifteen years, not very dynamic in the social light. With whispers of my return, she has gotten more active. I fear as if she will try to do something to split us up."

Izar chuckled, his head spinning. "I apologize," he backed up. It was getting difficult to breathe. Why? Why was his body acting this way? "I can't do this right now. I really can't."

Sirius made a move to stop Izar, but Regulus' jewel-clad hand stopped him. His father's eyes were full of distress as Izar turned away. Without hesitating, Izar opened the door and escaped Sirius' classroom. Already, the flush on his cheeks cooled and his heart rate slowed.

He realized that he was pushing his body to its maximum. It wasn't necessarily his body, it was more his mind taking the beating— his emotions.

The Dark Mark, the portkey Voldemort ordered, the wand core, the political Tournament, extra dueling work, the hallucinations, the ring, Regulus, and now Lily and other members of the Black family… it was too much right now.

Izar slumped against the wall outside the library, staring across the hall in a sort of daze. Perhaps he was so ill at ease because he never had to concentrate on anything but schoolwork for most his life. He never had any social commitments, any expectations. And this year had come at him so fast and so heavy, he was struggling to juggle everything at once.

His eyes unwillingly dropped to his left hand. He couldn't see the ring under his glove, but his memory was branded with its image. He was also vividly reminded of Regulus' guilt-stricken face. Izar was always very skilled at reading people and he knew Regulus was extremely torn up about Izar taking the ring. As much as Izar wanted to blame his father about his fate, he couldn't find any fault in Regulus' actions.

Voldemort had already known Regulus was alive. If Regulus had chosen to do something cunning behind the scenes, before he approached the Dark Lord, he would have just angered Voldemort even more with waiting. The man had known Izar lied to him that day in the Hogs Head. And just as Regulus pointed out this evening, it was almost if Voldemort were looking for _something _to blackmail Izar with. It was if the man already had the ring on his mind before Regulus stumbled back into Britain.

Even if Izar had refused to take the ring to spare Regulus' and Severus' life, he was _more _than certain he would eventually have the ring on his finger. Voldemort would have just used another blackmail tactic. For some unexplained reason, Voldemort needed this ring on Izar's finger.

But why?

A part of Izar wanted to go back to Sirius office to hear Regulus out. The man was truly trying to understand and help Izar. He knew that. But he was still having difficulty wrapping his mind around having someone in charge of him. He was used to living alone. And he didn't know if he could handle hearing about Lily and about their past at the moment. Not until he learned to control everything around him.

"Izar?" A voice questioned cautiously. Through the fall of his dark hair, Izar looked up at Daphne. The small girl was on her tiptoes, leaning forward to peer into his face. "Is everything alright?"

"No," Izar murmured quietly. He pushed off the wall, trying to rearrange his expression into a cold indifference. "But it will be."

She offered a small smile, reaching out to rub his arm with her manicured nails. "You know you can always come to me." Izar nodded in response. She laughed. "Something tells me you wouldn't come to me anyway. You'd rather brood in the dark."

"Obviously," Izar responded shortly. Before he could say anything more, his eyes caught sight of a small group behind Daphne. There were Slytherins standing together, some seventh year and others in sixth. They were talking quietly amongst each other, looking truly distressed. Daphne turned, searching for what caught his attention, before turning back.

The Greengrass heir sighed, her face troubled. "I need to ask something of you, Izar. But I will completely understand if you don't want to do it. If I were in your place I would refuse—,"

"What?" Izar asked shortly, too uptight to listen to Daphne beat around the bush.

The blond witch's lips thinned before she stepped closer to Izar. She placed her hands on his arms to steady herself. "I'm going to guess you haven't read the paper recently? Surprisingly, when you get past the first five pages there is news other then the Tournament."

"Is that so?"

She sent him a warning look. "Apparently," she glanced behind her shoulder at the group. A few of the Slytherins didn't look happy she was talking with him. But there were a few that were perked up, waiting for his reaction. "Theodore Nott's father was recently sentenced to two years in Azkaban. He's sick, Izar, Nott's father. He won't last a week in Azkaban, let alone two years." Tears clung to Daphne's green eyes. "Theodore is pretty upset right now. He lost his mother when he was only four years old. He's close to his father, really close."

Izar looked again at the group of students, noticing the tallest and thinnest boy amongst them. His eyes were on Izar, desperate and angry.

"He's requested me to ask you…" Daphne paused, searching for the right words.

"He wants help to break his father out of Azkaban?" Izar guessed, scoffing a bit. Azkaban was impossible to break in, much less with a group of school children.

"No," Daphne scolded. "He wants you to help him extract revenge. It appears that a Mudblood, Cory Appleton, ratted out Theodore's father. He informed the Ministry that Mr. Nott had a few illegal items in his house, illegal dark artifacts that weren't registered with the Ministry. Undersecretary Riddle tried his hardest to get Mr. Nott off free, but the evidence was all there. The best our Lord could do was reduce his sentence from five years to two."

Izar gave a light sigh. "What does Nott plan to do?"

"Kill," Daphne muttered softly. "I don't blame him," she defended the boy ardently. "Appleton is an old Mudblood who takes pleasure in putting away innocent men and women. Mr. Nott had those artifacts in his basement for decades. Most of them belonged to either the Dark Lord or Nott's ancestors. He never touched them. And now, with his terminal illness, he's sent to a death prison that will kill him within a week."

The girl was getting far too emotional for Izar's liking.

"This is reckless," Izar finally spoke. "The Dark Lord, if he finds out…" Izar paused, realizing. "That's why Nott wants me to accompany him, isn't it? He thinks, because the Dark Lord apparently favors me that he will get off painlessly."

Daphne gave a quiet growl. "That's not it at all. Amazingly, the Slytherins who aren't jealous of you or hate you because of your blood status actually look up to you because the Dark Lord thinks highly of you. They believe you're his successor of sorts. They want you near them. Nott especially."

Theodore walked over, the rest of the Slytherins staying behind. Izar eyed the Slytherin as he came closer. The boy was tall and lanky with features that would be similar to that of a rabbit. His eyes were large, almond-shaped like Izar's, and a small, pointed nose sat above an equally small mouth. Izar spied two large teeth in the front of his mouth. They weren't as large as Granger's, but they were larger than average.

His blue eyes were dull and the white's of his eyes were red from what Izar would assume were tears. The boy held himself straight, like any typical pure-blood. "I never formally introduced myself," Theodore's voice was strong, lacking any emotional torment he carried. "I'm Theodore Nott; it's a pleasure to finally meet you properly, Izar."

The boy held out his hand, revealing a large family ring on his pinky. Izar withheld a sigh before he shook hands with the boy.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Izar questioned the boy quietly. It wouldn't do to have the Slytherins behind them to overhear. Nott would be insulted. "Did you think over this with a clear head?"

Nott's brow furrowed as the lurking emotion took over. "I want to avenge my father," it came breathlessly, thick with passion. No tears escaped Theodore's eyes, but tears would have only watered down the burning need in his gaze. "I will do it with, or without your help. I only wish for you to come along with me."

"He needs someone to accompany him with a level head. We need this as quick and clean as possible and you're the one to help us with that." Daphne pointed out logically. "You're the most mature wizard amongst the student population, Izar. We need you to come with us, if only to reign the more rowdy ones." She hinted at, looking over her shoulder at the older Slytherins.

Izar knew if Voldemort found out, the man would be furious. Izar had only caught glimpses at the man's fury, but he knew better than to ignite that fury. "Gather your Death Eater robes," Izar whispered. "Meet me back here at the library with your robes in your messenger bags. From there, we will walk toward the Forbidden Forest in order to apparate." He paused. "Where, exactly, is Applegate's home?"

"Near Diagon Alley, actually," Daphne responded for Nott.

Izar nodded sharply, his mind racing as he watched the Slytherins slither off toward the dungeons.

_Near Diagon Alley. _

Izar looked at his ring before hurrying into the library. He just needed a few minutes to look up the ring. It was eating away at his mind, a constant burden on his shoulders.

Finding a secluded table, Izar brought out the _Eruditio. _His fingers shook as he flipped open the book, his wand trailing along the blank pages. "Magical rings or ritual rings," he intoned. As his wand washed over the blank book, ink magically began to spill across the gold-dusted pages.

He sat down and waited impatiently as the book began spilling its secrets. Once it seemed to have stopped, Izar quickly flipped through the pages, looking at each ring and passing on it when it wasn't the match to the band on his finger.

Finally, about the middle of the textbook, he stumbled across a picture of his ring and its partner, Voldemort's. Izar's eyes widened briefly at the mere amount of information. The text went into detail of the ring's history, explaining that it was used quite frequently since medieval times and was continued throughout modern times.

_The Celtic ring has many uses among pure-bloods and their families. The majority of the time, the Celtic band is used on mentor and heir. It is not to be mistaken for uses inside a true family. Should the caster wish to declare a child, outside his family, as his heir, the Celtic ring would act as a connecter. The caster dons the silver Celtic band and presents his heir with the black titanium band. There are many enchantments the caster can manipulate with the Celtic bands; some of said enchantments can cause almost a reliance on the heirs' behalf. The Ministry of Magic, for many years, has expressed their beliefs that Celtic rings should be prohibited in the wizarding world due to the mere controlling nature. Unfortunately, Celtic rings have been in pure-blood families for over centuries, it would be impossible to confiscate such an accepted item. _

_The Celtic ring, while Dark in many aspects, can also be a positive occurrence. Families who cannot produce heirs use these bands to formally adopt children into their family. Overtime, the Celtic ring can be adjusted to transfer some of the mentor's physical and chemical signature into their heir. Within a few years, the heir could be mistaken for his true son. _

_While the Celtic rings are used primarily for mentor and heir, it is also used between betrothed couples of pure-blood race. Pure-blooded females practice virtue among the wizarding world. It is expected of them to remain pure until the night of their bonding ceremony with their joined husband. The Celtic ring prohibits sexual exchange until the night of—_

Izar shut the book, a grimace on his mouth. Voldemort lured Izar to become his heir? Wasn't the man immortal?

It didn't make much sense and Izar now understood why Voldemort wanted Izar to approach him after he found out the rings' function. According to the text, the caster, which happened to be Voldemort, could manipulate the ring to do what he wanted. Transferring DNA and personality traits were among the things Voldemort could accomplish through his ring. And there was also a connection the man would be able to put into affect as well, a connection that could leave Izar dependent on him.

There was a wide variety of things the rings could do, if Voldemort so wished them. And even if Izar _did _approach the man about the rings, would he even get the full truth? Would he find out what manipulations Voldemort set the rings to do?

So far, Izar didn't feel any different. He didn't feel anymore dependent on the man then usual. And he couldn't see any physical differences in his appearance. But Izar was certain Riddle wouldn't use the ring to make Izar grow physically similar to himself. There was no gain to that. However, he _could _see Riddle using the ring to transfer some of his personality onto Izar. If Riddle was serious about Izar becoming his heir, the man would want Izar to be more socially graceful, a political dancer.

Izar gave a sigh, his hands rubbing his face tiredly. If tonight worked out well enough, he would go to Riddle tomorrow. The man usually hung around Hogwarts a few hours during the day before leaving at night.

Tonight, he wouldn't let himself dwell over the uses of the rings. There were just too many possibilities. For all he knew, Voldemort could be using the rings just as a political symbol.

_Near Diagon Alley. _

Daphne's voice echoed through his head. Charcoal-green eyes looked tiredly at his wand. Ollivander's was in Diagon Alley. And the large ledger Ollivander kept his records in was in Diagon Alley.

Izar sat up, feeling a bit smug with himself. Voldemort could see through lies. Yes. Perhaps even more so with their connecting rings. But the Dark Lord wouldn't be able to sense half truths, could he? If they were caught outside the castle, Voldemort would demand where they had gone. Izar could truthfully say he had helped Nott with his revenge. But who said he had to tell Voldemort that he had also gone to Ollivanders?

It was the _perfect _solution. Izar could find out what Voldemort's wand core was without the man knowing. And in turn, he could work on the Dark Mark in the privacy of his own rooms. He would have all the information he needed.

The other children didn't have to know where he was going. And they didn't have to know he was using their own escapade as means to get one up on Voldemort.

A lazy smirk stretched across Izar's face as he stood up, throwing his books in his bag. He needed to go to the Ravenclaw Common Room to get his Death Eater robes. Before he left, however, a form stepped in his way.

"I want to come with you," Draco informed; a stubborn lift to his chin.

Izar blinked. It didn't surprise him that Draco knew about Nott's plan of revenge. The Slytherins were a rather close knit group of classmates. They stuck together and they kept their secrets woven into their own House, no where else. Izar was just a bit surprised that Draco wanted to accompany the group. After all, Nott was a bit of a loner in the Slytherin House. He didn't feel the need to trail after Draco like the others did.

"And I would also like to apologize for my outburst that night at dinner a few weeks ago. It was entirely uncalled for, very tactless."

Izar scoffed. "You already apologized to me in the hospital wing, Malfoy."

"No," Draco shook his head, a serious expression settling his features. "I didn't mean what I said that day at the hospital wing. Seeing you in danger this past Task, it made me realize that you had no say over the matter. They forced you into this Tournament." The blonde boy offered a light smirk. "And I also realized I wouldn't have enjoyed the hallucinations from the _Devil's Venenum_. So…I'm glad it was you."

Izar rolled his eyes upward in aggravation. Trust Draco Malfoy to come up with an apology that dripped of arrogance.

"Accepted," Izar conceded bitterly. What else could he do? Malfoy would stalk him through the halls of Hogwarts, persisting if Izar didn't accept the apology. There was another part of Izar, albeit a small part, that held a bit of pity for Draco. He realized the boy always tried his hardest to make his father proud. To have his father so callously throw away his son's dream at the Tournament was a bit… pitiful.

"Get your robes, then," Izar continued.

Draco lifted the top of his bag, a nickel Death Eater's mask already tucked inside. The boy's eyes gleamed wickedly, excitingly.

Izar was vividly reminded of Lucius Malfoy.

**{Death of Today}**

The cold mask felt heavy against his face. Izar had never put on the Death Eater's mask before and it proved difficult to get used to. His eyes could easily see through the eyes sockets, it was just complicated to feel something weighing his face down.

He slithered between the shops of Diagon Alley. It was late enough where the shops were closing and the storekeepers were going home. Izar had to remind himself to transfigure all their Death Eater robes into something a bit less conspicuous, just in case they were caught by a professor coming back to the school. Books were always a good idea to turn the robes into. That way, if a professor searched their bags, they wouldn't see a Death Eater mask staring them straight in the face.

Izar had forbid all the Slytherins to accompany them. Instead, he allowed Nott to pick two others along with Draco and Daphne. The boy had picked two seventh year Slytherins, Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole. A wise and mature choice. Nott wasn't particularly close to the two, but they were decent wizards and not as rowdy as the others. Or so, he assumed.

Because Derrick and Bole were the only two who could apparate, as of present, they had to side-long apparate with Draco, Daphne, and Izar. Draco had stubbornly resisted, stating that he knew how to apparate. Izar had sent one stare his cousin's way and Draco reluctantly held on to Bole's arm. It had taken two trips, for Bole and Derrick couldn't side-long apparate with two people at once.

The five Slytherins were on the outskirts of Diagon Alley, hopefully waiting _patiently _for him. From their position, they couldn't see his whereabouts. And Izar wanted to keep it that way.

He was crouched next to Ollivander's watching silently as the wand maker stepped outside his shop. A merry tone whistled past his moistened lips as he waved his wand, locking his shop. It was a simple locking charm; one Izar could easily get past. He wondered at that, but considered that Ollivander really didn't have anything one was interested to steal, with the exception of an illegal— unregistered wand.

Ollivander paused in his retreat down the street, his shoulders becoming stiff. Slowly, the white haired man turned toward Izar.

The Ravenclaw ducked behind the corner, leaning his head against the cold stone. He didn't allow himself to breathe until he heard the whistling resume and the footsteps waking further down the street.

Cautiously, Izar poked his head around the corner, searching the streets. Nightfall had drowned the streets in pitch black. Only a few street lanterns were lit, not enough to cast decent light down the shops' fronts.

Izar crawled toward the front of Ollivanders. His wand was already drawn as he spotted the glowing shade of wards near the foot of the door. His wand caressed the wards almost lovingly. He cooed at the well laid wards, not surprised to find a ward underneath a simple locking charm. It was expected that Ollivander would be decent at spell work; after all, he nurtured wands for a living.

But Izar slowly unwound it, layer by layer. With the tip of his wand, Izar flicked the top layer of the ward. The torn layer of the ward floated in the air, rivaling the appearance of a recently blown out candle. The smoke wisps disappeared within seconds, only to be joined by the second layer of the ward.

Izar's lips caressed the Latin incantation to reverse the wards. It was relatively simple to him, but to others, it would prove difficult. He just had a love for all magic, every form of it and all its properties. Perhaps that's why he excelled so well in school. He treated every magical signature as if it were precious and rare, both Dark and Light magic.

Of course, it could also be because he was magic sensitive.

Finally, the ward dulled before dissolving. With a simple wave of his wand, Izar unlocked the door. It creaked open and Izar scrambled inside. The inside of the shop was just as he remembered it in his first year.

The gentle hum of the wands was a constant comfort to Izar. Because he was magic sensitive, he could feel the wands and their intensity of magic. The wands which carried a brighter magical aura were further back in the store, probably where Voldemort received his wand. And exactly where Izar got his.

He sat on an old stool in front of the ledger and flipped through the pages. The information of all wands purchased was organized by last name.

Izar paused on the 'Black' surnames. As Sirius had stated already, the true Blacks all had Thestral wand cores. He stared at Regulus' name, imaging his own name right below his fathers. But his was under the name of 'Harrison', a surname Izar wondered how he received. Was it the orphanage?

Quickly paging past the B's, he flipped toward the R's. His eyes danced across the text until he came to the name Thomas Marvolo Riddle.

A wide smile curled the corners of his lips as he read the wand.

_Length; __13½", wood; Yew, core: phoenix feather__. _

"Phoenix feather," Izar murmured; a twitch to his lips. "Who would have thought the Dark Lord had such a Light creature as his wand core?" He looked around the dusty and old wand shop. The magical tape measure whined and twitched on the table next to him.

The more Izar thought about it, the more he realized a phoenix feather fit the man. The Dark Lord was immortal and powerful in his own right. Like a phoenix, if the Dark Lord 'died', he would only be reborn because of his immortality.

He looked back down at the old ledger, frowning when he read what was in the parenthesis next to Riddle's core.

_(Fawks— Albus' bird)_

Izar sat back, surprised. Could it really be this easy? Charcoal-green eyes looked back down at the ledger. He noted the ink. Riddle's wand data was written in slightly worn out ink, as if it had been written fifty years ago. However, 'Fawks' looked as if it had been written just recently. Almost if the man had _known _Izar would have ventured in his shop.

Izar stared at the page, lost in thought. Ollivander didn't strike Izar as a Dark wizard. But then again, he wasn't exactly _Light _either. Izar assumed the man was just absorbed so much into his work— it was all about knowledge and wandlore. The man was fascinated with what his wands could do given to the right wizard, whether said wizard was Light or Dark. Izar truly believed the man was just happy Izar took such a liking toward wandlore, so happy that he would be happy to assist him.

Flicking his wand through the air lazily, Izar startled when a wand box on the desk tremble at the action. Twirling his wand again, the box shook closer to Izar. Narrowing his eyes, Izar cautiously reached out to touch the box. Nothing happened.

Thinning his lips, he took the lid off, only to reveal a holly wand. The top of the lid detailed the wand as a phoenix feather, eleven inches. More specifically, Ollivander's writing labeled the phoenix feather as, _Albus' bird_, with recently spilled ink.

"You old man," Izar chuckled, pleased. "You knew…" He was looking at the brother to Voldemort's wand. And for the first time in years, Izar felt truly happy. Something _finally_ went right and painless.

He curled his fingers around the wand, taking it out of the box. Instantly, he felt warm. The warmth washed through his body, making him feel more aware, more alive, then ever before. It was the same feeling he got from his current wand four years ago.

Could it be possible to have two wands destined for one wizard? This wand felt so right to him, so _precise_. It was almost as comfortable as his Thestral wand, only a bit more alien in his hand. Izar was sure he could become just as comfortable with it as his Thestral.

He wondered…

Looking at his fingerless glove that hid the ring, he wondered if he was always meant for this wand, or if it was just recently. What if the ring Voldemort presented to him was the cause for the wand's acceptance to Izar? After all, the ring had the possibility to pass along personality traits…

Izar sighed, eyeing the wand. He then looked at the ledger and then to the ink pot. Quickly tucking the brother to Voldemort's wand in his pocket, he leaned forward and took Ollivander's quill. Next to Riddle's data, he scrawled the words, _I owe you. _

Jumping off the stool, he crossed the store before shutting the door. Placing the wards back into place, Izar ran down the streets, knowing he had made the others wait long enough.


	18. Part I Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

"This is the house?" Bole questioned from beneath his nickel-brushed mask. "You're one hundred percent certain this is Appleton's home?"

The six Death Eaters were crouched outside Appleton's lightened home. Each of the student had on a nickel death mask, save for the smallest male figure in the middle. Izar's eyes flashed from beneath his silver mask, a warning toward Bole. "Theodore already expressed his certainty that this is the old Mudblood's home," he stated softly.

"Who knew the old rot had such a decent home?" Peregrine Derrick contemplated.

"It's because he gets fat off the Ministry's money for sacking Dark wizards," Nott responded softly, his eyes full of emotion behind his mask. "Let's go in." Just as Theodore was about to lead the group inside, Izar felt his Mark burn.

He hissed, grabbing Theodore's cloak to pull him back. All five set of eyes turned expectantly in his direction. "Didn't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" Daphne whispered, sending a quick glance toward Appleton's home.

"The Dark Mark," Izar spat, irritated. _Children._ Were they really that oblivious to the things around them? Their focus was on the excitement, the thrill of a kill— of possible torture. This was, perhaps, their first time taking someone's life. And they were clouded because of it. Thankfully they hadn't brought the other Slytherins, the more riled ones. "I felt it burn."

Their attention seemed to come into focus suddenly at the mention of their Master. They became somber and still. "I didn't feel it burn," Nott injected quietly.

"Me neither," Derrick's deep voice rumbled. The rest of the Slytherin's nodded in agreement. Only Draco seemed a bit subdue as his crouched form leaned closer to Izar. Whenever Draco was among equals, his loud mouth seemed to become more controlled. Perhaps it was due to one of his father's many painful lessons during his childhood days. "Perhaps you're just paranoid _he'll _catch us."

"Oh," Izar began sinisterly, a cruel smile stretching. "I'm not paranoid he'll find out. I _know _he'll find out. You honestly think the Dark Lord can be bettered by schoolboys? And girls?" he added, looking at Daphne.

Her mossy green eyes clouded with uncertainty. "Perhaps it is best if we wait to do this, Nott. Izar is right. The Dark Lord will be _beyond _furious if he finds out. I don't know if I'm ready to feel one of his _Cruciatus _curses. My father says they're horrible. It takes days to recover." Draco nodded in silent agreement, his cold grey eyes catching Izar's.

"Fine," Nott spat. "You five stay here. Let me go inside myself. He's an old Mudblood. Our Lord should be pleased we're following his beliefs."

"Don't be an idiot," Izar growled, tugging Nott back once again as he lunged forward. "You think you can just barge in there and announce your arrogant presence? No." Izar barked. "There are wards in place around the house. You wouldn't even get a few feet without being blocked. And there is a great amount of magic coming from his house. Even more so then the surrounding houses."

The older Slytherin, Bole, looked at him quizzically with his washed out blue eyes. "How do you know all that?" He looked around at the other houses on the block. They were only a few blocks away from Diagon Alley. "I can't feel any of the magic coming from the houses."

Izar withheld a sigh. "No, but I can," he interrupted before they could all agree. "We need a plan of action before just barging inside. What if Appleton has a family? What if he has visitors? We need to surround the perimeter before entering. Well, scratch that," Izar contemplated. "We need to de-ward the house before entering."

"Oi? And who the bloody hell is going to _de-ward _the house? Warding is barely touched at the end of seventh year, let alone de-warding." Derrick growled.

"Careful," Izar whispered venomously. "Your knickers are starting to twist up your bloody arse."

"Izar," Daphne exclaimed, flustered. Next to Izar, Draco snickered quietly. "We aren't going to get anywhere if we keep arguing. Izar is correct, naturally. He can de-ward the property and we need to surround the perimeter before entering. If I remember correctly, Nott and Derrick both expressed their respect for Izar's intelligence. Why don't the two of you _prove _you are better wizards and make good on your remarks? He's our leader."

Derrick had the audacity to look a bit ashamed.

"Appleton doesn't have a family," Nott growled. "He lives alone."

"Right," Izar sneered. "Derrick, Bole, and Daphne will enter through the back. Draco and Nott, you are with me in the front." Just as the three were about to leave, Izar sighed once again. "_Wait _until I get the wards down."

They sat back, their eyes clearly showing their embarrassment.

He turned toward the wards, not very impressed with their structure. They were put up sloppily and lazily, as if the caster hadn't even cared about the magic. He always pitied magic when it wasn't used to its full potential.

With his wand, he snuck closer to the wards and began to unweave it like he'd done at Ollivander's. Someone crawled next to him. "How do you do that? Can you see it?" It was Draco. It was a pity he couldn't see what unique colors the wards were giving off every time a layer was removed.

"Yes," Izar responded distractedly. "I suppose you could say… I'm sensitive to magic."

"What does it look like? Magic, I mean."

Izar paused in his workings. "It's not very noticeable," he responded before returning to his task. He was aware of Draco deflating next to him in disappointment. The boy must have thought things had to be bright and flashy to be beautiful. "It's calm, most the time." He remembered Voldemort's magic when it was angry. When magic was angry, it was far from calm. "Lazy, I suppose is the best word for it. It looks a bit like smoke or fog. Sometimes it's a distinguishable color; other times there are a few particles that rival the appearance of dust. These particles sometimes glitter, like dew in the morning light. They travel incredibly slow through the magic." He responded fondly.

He wished he could see everyone's aura, but his sight was only limited to the strong wizards or the magical objects that had a lot of magic to it.

Draco was an unnerving quiet.

After he whisked away a layer of the ward, Izar glanced at his cousin. The blonde boy was staring at Izar with an unreadable expression.

"What?" Izar demanded.

The Malfoy heir shrugged, turning back to the lightened house. "I've never seen you smile like that before, that's all."

Izar snorted. "I have a bloody mask on my face, Malfoy. You can't even see my mouth."

"No," Draco whispered. "But I can see your eyes."

Izar tugged the last layer of the ward, leaving Draco's comment in the air. "It's down," he turned to the other Death Eaters, motioning them forward. "I don't know if he has a sensor that tells him if the wards are down, so we'd better hurry."

The three Slytherins ran toward the back of the home while Nott took position with Draco and Izar. Theodore was breathing heavily through his mask and Izar contemplated on the boy's emotional wellbeing. The adrenaline even made Izar's heart race, yes, but his breathing was still and calm. It just went to prove that Theodore was far too emotional to think wisely of his actions. What happened with his father was unfortunate, very unfortunate. And while Izar didn't blame the boy for wanting revenge, Izar _was _inclined to disagree with the boy's timing.

Now wasn't the time to extract revenge.

But what did Izar know? It wasn't his father, it wasn't his life. The boy would kill Appleton no matter if he was accompanied by his classmates or not.

Izar just chose to come along to make it as safe as he could.

Still…

His head cocked to the side as he studied the house they were steadily approaching. Somehow, this house was emitting more magic than the other houses on the block. It was true that this was a magical community, but this house… for some reason… it made him uncertain.

The Dark Mark gave a sharp burn and Izar hissed, placing his hand over his Mark. Next to him, Draco did the same, his eyes widening almost comically. A whimper escaped the blonde. "He's angry. No, he's bloody furious."

Nott flashed a look at Draco over his shoulder. "I need to do this. I need to avenge my father."

With that, Nott led the way up the stairs to the door. Izar was glad to hang back, his wand up and ready. Through his mask, Izar watched Nott slash his wand through the air, destroying the door in front of him. So much for subtlety.

They entered the lightened house. The foyer in front of them had a fireplace roaring and an alcohol cart parked neatly next to a bar. Izar's sharp eyes noticed the half drunken brandy near the empty armchair. There was a pair of slippers at the foot of the leather chair and a paper spread out on the coffee table. Even from here, Izar could see the pages turned to an article about an inmate in Azkaban.

Mr. Nott.

"Do you reckon he's upstairs?" Derrick questioned as his group entered from the back. The five Slytherins looked upstairs, conversing quietly with one another. Izar just hoped they wouldn't use their real names when speaking to each other.

While they whispered on a plan of action, Izar's lips thinned as he took another closer look about the empty room. A bookshelf stood in the corner of the room. The books on display put Izar on edge. All the books were of Light magic, high Light. The books wouldn't have one bit of mention of the Dark Arts in them, almost if they were made for small children, innocent children. Izar caught sight of the Animagus books.

"He's an Animagus," Izar reasoned softly. The Slytherins turned to him. "That's how he spots the Dark Artifacts in the houses. He must be a beetle or small insect of some sort to crawl into the properties."

"That filthy Mudblood," Nott spat, his eyes deranged behind his mask. "Let's go upstairs."

Izar, his wand still up and raised, walked toward the fireplace. His eyes were sharp as he searched for any sort of insect. Upon nearing the armchair, he caught movement in the slipper. A small beetle crawled quickly inside the cotton blue slipper, hoping not to be seen.

"No," Izar stopped the group from walking upstairs.

"Izar—,"

Izar turned; his eyes wide and angry. "You do _not _use our names, you foolish idiot." Appleton needed to die now. If it wasn't guaranteed before, it certainly was now. Izar sighed, wondering why there were so many idiots in the wizarding world. Honestly, using one's name in the enemy's house when they were under cover? _"Homorpus!" _

He pointed his wand at the slipper, watching as a golden light surrounded the item. Shortly, the slipper bulged widely before the man's head could no longer fit inside. Within seconds, a short and stout man sat against the armchair, his beady eyes narrowed angrily. Izar kept his wand extended, pointed straight between the man's eyes.

If he had to compare this man to something, it most certainly would be a beetle. The man's upper and lower body sort of blended together in a wide bulge. The man was fat, having no curves or definition. He was sort of a like a round ball with an even smaller round head.

A heavy beard grew on the man's face, his lips almost hidden amongst all the hair. Equally bushy eyebrows poked out from his thick glasses.

"You little runts," the man growled, his rotten teeth snapping together in a fierce scowl. "You really think you're going to get away with this?"

Nott stumbled from the stairs, pushing everyone aside as his bright eyes zeroed in on his prey. His wand shook as he pointed it at Appleton. Izar gladly stepped backward, his opposite hand grabbing the wand Appleton was leaning toward. They wouldn't want the man to reach his wand and then disapparate. The old man looked into Izar's eyes and scowled again. "You smart arse, little bastard," Appleton barked. "I bet you think you're pretty special? You're nothing but a worthless piece of shit."

Izar ignored the insult, oddly amused at the vocabulary the old man possessed.

"Shut up," Nott growled, thrusting his wand closer toward Appleton's face. "You're just as worthless."

Izar raised his eyebrows. The boy was having trouble controlling himself and his emotions. There were tears in Theodore's eyes as he finally stood face to face with his father's reason he was in Azkaban.

The Slytherins on the stairs slowly walked down, their posture eager. The two seventh year Slytherins, especially, had their wands at the ready, pointed at Appleton. This was pathetic. They didn't have enough time to take rounds, torturing Appleton. They needed to act fast and leave fast.

"Kill him," Izar ordered Nott coldly. "Don't play with your food."

"Says you," Derrick spat. "I bet you're sympathetic toward him because he's like you, a Mudblood."

Izar sighed tiredly. "Kill him," he repeated. "We don't know if he called for help before we came in." Charcoal-green eyes assessed the brandy and the paper's article on Nott's father. "Though he was celebrating…" he mused to himself.

Draco shifted closer to him, his eyes on the scene in front of him. His wand was slightly lowered, yet high enough to defend himself. Izar realized Malfoy wasn't going to participate in the torture and killing of Appleton. Good. Daphne, standing across from him, was a gorgeous statue. Her eyes were unreadable as she watched Theodore and Appleton closely. Her posture was a clear sign she did not wish to participate.

That just left Derrick and Bole. The two seventh years were all but hopping on their feet, excitement clouding their expressions. They were blind to the world around them.

"You're Nott's kid, aren't you?" Appleton poked, guessing correctly. He laughed harshly. "Here with your little friends in cute uniforms. You won't do it." The man called Nott's bluff and Izar had to agree full heartedly. Despite Theodore's drive to get revenge on his father's imprisonment, he was too emotional and confused to strike the killing blow.

"_Crucio,"_ Nott shook.

The spell barely tickled Appleton. Izar observed the old man as he lost his breath, a bit of pain tightening his features. But there was no screaming, no pleading to be killed like Voldemort's curse caused.

"_Crucio_," Derrick took over, eager. This time, the man screamed.

"He's mine!" Nott howled. He pushed Derrick away, successfully breaking the spell on Appleton.

"You promised we could have our fun," Derrick argued back. "Both Bole and I." Bole nodded next to Derrick, his fingers caressing his wand. They were both foolish. Again, they were using their true names. Despite the fact that Appleton would be killed tonight, something could occur between that time to issue Appleton's escape. And the man would escape with most their names. Thus, putting them in trouble with both the law and Voldemort.

"You two will have more than enough time to claim your own prey with the Dark Lord's rise to power." Izar reasoned with them softly. "Let our friend have his revenge."

Derrick and Bole both glowered at Izar, yet they stood down when they realized the truth in his words. When the Dark Lord came out to the public, they would have more than enough Mudbloods and Muggles to play with.

"He's going to kill us," Draco whispered next to Izar. "If not the Dark Lord, then my father." The blonde was rubbing his burning Mark through his sleeve.

"Then why did you accompany us?" Izar demanded softly. Nott cast another _Cruciatus _curse, finally gaining some courage. Appleton gave a grunt, his breathing hard and labored.

"To keep you safe," Draco declared before turning away. "Do you feel that?" The boy asked as his back stiffened. "I feel eyes on me."

Izar kept quiet. If he agreed with Draco, the boy would become hysterical. He not only felt eyes on him, he felt a shift in the atmosphere. He felt an intensity of magic. The man had alerted the Ministry as soon as he felt the wards drop…

"Kill him," Izar ordered again sharply, his wand averting from Appleton to Nott as means as motivation. "Quickly, the Ministry is here." He tried to keep out the desperation in his voice but judging from Daphne's shaking form, he supposed he failed.

Nott's eyes widened and he froze. They all froze.

"_Viscerare,"_ Izar pointed his wand toward Appleton. The heart attack curse engulfed the fat man before Appleton could even register the quick attack. The man choked, his hands going to his chest before he slumped to the ground, shuddering. His purple lips were visible to Izar as he stared down at his first kill. "We have to hurry. The back door."

It was Slytherin survival mode. Izar had heard rumors that Slytherins were cowards in the face of danger. They saved their own hide and ran. But this was the first time Izar had seen it so personally. The two older Slytherins pushed the others out of the way as they sprinted toward the back door. As soon as they were all out the house, they heard the cracks of apparation inside the foyer where they once were.

A blue-clad Auror lunged at them, his hex already spitting from his wand. Izar dodged the spell as it shot past his ear, heating the skin in its wake.

Izar's heart began to beat wildly as he watched the scene up ahead. The two older Slytherin's grabbed hold of the first person they came in contact with. Bole caught Daphne around the waist and Derrick curled his hand around Theodore's robe.

And then they both disapparated, leaving Izar and Draco by themselves.

Draco gave a loud outcry of disapproval. Izar curled his hand around Draco's arm, forcing the boy to hurry. "Run," Izar urged sharply. He had picked the backdoor as their escape because it was the least covered when he felt them arrive. But now, he could feel them closing in on them from behind. "Diagon Alley," Izar panted, pushing his legs to their limit. "We can break into one of the shops and use their Floo… unless you know how to disapparate." After all, the boy had boosted that he knew how to apparate before they arrived here. Izar was calling his bluff.

While Izar had read about the strategy of apparating and disapparating, he had never done it himself. And he knew, in his distressed mood, he would most likely splinch both himself and Draco on his first try.

His cousin shook his head frantically, proving that he had lied about his knowledge in the art. Izar withheld a snort at that. It was like Draco to bluff about something he did not know how to do.

The blonde almost stumbled on his feet as he dodged a spell coming at his back. Izar risked a look over his shoulder and grimaced at what he saw. There was a heavy number of Aurors coming after them. "We're going to die," Draco panted, hysterical.

Izar laughed, delighted. He felt a bit… light. He had never been in a life-threatening situation before, unless he counted the Acromantulas during the First Task. But having this thrill, this sort of excitement at the situation, felt kind of good.

He blamed it on the insanity with the Black genes. From the whispers he'd heard, Bellatrix was the same way in battle, only, a bit more extreme.

Izar curled his arm around Draco, tugging him to a sharp turn. A spell exploded the brick right where their heads were once situated. They were near Diagon Alley and the Aurors were fast approaching. Their spells were getting more desperate as they aimed it at their backs.

And yet… the spells suddenly stopped and in its place, _cracks _of disapparation where heard.

Izar stopped, forcing Draco to stop with him. They were in between two houses, _just_ outside of Diagon Alley. "They know where we're headed." A few Aurors who hadn't apparated sprinted toward their hesitating forms. Izar struggled to think of what to do next. "Help me." Izar demanded as he raised his wand, determination licking at his skin.

One of the Aurors advanced quickly, their stance pure grace as they slashed their wand through the air. A red hex shot their way and Izar watched it in a cold calm. Sirius had taught him to remain calm and collected. Things usually seemed to go slower if his emotions were calm. "_Protego_," he whispered, his wand swirling lazily about him.

His shield projected the curse successfully, but he had to worry about the next two coming in his direction. He ducked one of them and pulled up another shield for the other. Behind him, he could hear Draco frantically scream out spells. The boy liked to brag to his classmates about his skill in dueling, yet Izar knew even _he _was better than his cousin. The boy might have been decent at dueling in a non-threatening situation, but he was worthless when it came to the real thing.

"Start a shield. Keep reinforcing it," Izar informed coolly as he crouched at Draco's feet.

It was time to experiment with the spells he had created. A cold smirk curled his lips as he wiggled the tip of his wand on the floor. "What the bloody hell are you doing?!" Draco exclaimed.

"_Abrumpo," _Izar whispered his own incantation he practiced many times in the privacy in his dorm room. The spell came out in a long, glowing line. He wiggled his wand again, watching in glee as the spell took shape of what appeared to be a long, glowing worm. He motioned toward the Aurors with a flick of his wand.

The glowing red curse slithered quickly toward the group of wizards, its path drawn out thanks to Izar. Izar watched, intrigued, as his spell easily wiggled away from the curses the Aurors cast at it. The _Abrumpo_ was far too quick for humans' reflexes.

The spell came in contact with its victim. The Auror yelped, falling to the ground as his foot was severed from his body. The spell, sadly, disappeared, but the blood was forever as it stained the ground.

"They're coming at us from behind," Draco fretted. "They're surrounding us."

"Keep reinforcing the shield," Izar informed, knowing he and Draco had lost. There was no way out of this. There were just too many. He heard Draco struggling to keep his sobs silent. The boy's determination to keep the shields up helped the tears stay dry. "Don't let them take your honor, Draco," Izar spoke softly, strongly.

"_Protego,_" Draco tried again, reinforcing their shield as disarming charms flew at them quicker.

"_Reducto_," Izar called softly. One of the shop's bay windows shattered at Izar's command. Before the glass could shower across the Aurors, Izar flicked his wand again, setting the glass on fire. He quickened the glass' descent, sending the shards at the Aurors at top speed.

Some of the Aurors blocked the glass expertly, while others were too slow in their guard. Shards pierced at them, imbedding into the thick flesh.

Their shield was starting to fall due to the Aurors' attack from behind them. Izar caught sight of a movement in the alleyway next to him. He turned quickly, spying a Death Eater's mask slowly escaping the shadows. At first, he thought it was either Derrick or Bole coming back to apparate them away. But their masks were nickel. The Death Eater in the alleyway had a gold mask covering their features.

It was a Death Eater from Voldemort's inner circle.

Izar almost gave a delirious laugh as he saw multiple Death Eaters escape from the shadows around the alleyway. They took the Aurors' off guard as they attacked viciously. The Aurors didn't know what hit them as they were faced with enemies who were sufficient with the Dark Arts.

A first ranked Death Eater came running toward them, blocking a few curses as they flew in his direction. Judging from the man's magic and black eyes, Izar knew it was Snape. And judging from the man's blazing eyes…

"Now you can say we're going to die." Izar whispered to Draco.

Abruptly, Snape took Izar around the collar, hauling him none too gently in the air. The man's eyes were weapons in themselves as they pinned Izar with a lethal stare. "You are in unsubstantial trouble, Mr. Harrison." Burning onyx eyes then turned to Draco, grabbing the blonde by the collar as well. "You also, Mr. Malfoy."

The last thing Izar observed before being pulled into side-along apparation was an Auror getting a nasty hex to her face.

Izar could have sworn Snape continued to reprimand them sharply, even in the middle of the apparation. His voice came out wrapped and slow as they were squeezed through time and space.

Sadly, when they were dropped violently to the floor, they weren't on the cool grounds of Hogwarts, but the cold and hard ground of… marble? Izar struggled to sit up without vomiting over the clean and glossy floors. His vision spun wildly at the apparation. He didn't get a chance to recover before Snape grabbed him once again, hauling him up by the collar and spinning him as they swept from the room. Izar struggled to keep up with the long strides of his professor while keeping his vomit down.

Draco, on the other hand, didn't fair so well. Through Izar's spinning vision, he heard the boy gag and retch.

"I take pity on you, Mr. Malfoy, if you're already weakened. The Dark Lord's wrath will leave you favoring these apparation trips ten folds over."

Izar wondered at Snape's strength of all but carrying two male teenagers. The man must find practice on poor students' ears as he catches them out of bed after curfew.

He struggled to pull away and study his surroundings, but Snape kept a steady hold. His eyes couldn't take anything in; they were forced to remain blurry and unfocused. All the while, Izar felt them approaching the raging magic further down the hall. He knew exactly where the magic led… "My Lord," Snape's tone dropped passively. "We have recovered both insolent simpletons successfully."

"_Oh, bloody hell,"_ Draco whispered, voicing Izar's own thoughts.

"Good."

The hairs on Izar's neck stood on end before he was ferociously shoved back to the ground. He lay there, frozen, before blinking open his eyes. He saw his reflection on the floors and he took a long moment to stare at himself. All he saw was the silver death mask and his exhausted, yet emotional eyes.

"Leave us, Severus."

The man must have bowed and left, for Izar could hear the man's robes billowing out from behind him. Izar kept stubbornly still, trying to calm himself.

"Someone, please, enlighten me with a reasonable explanation to your irresponsible and _ridiculous _actions." The Dark Lord hissed out. His voice was calm, but Izar was no fool. He could feel the man's magic lash out about him, stinging his face with the bitterness of it. No one spoke. "Now." The man barked.

"We… we went to Appleton's home."

Izar cocked an eyebrow when he heard the unmistakable voice of Peregrine Derrick. He turned his neck slightly, taking in the room for the first time. He saw everyone on their forearms and knees before the Dark Lord, every head bowed. Bole was there, along with Derrick, Nott, Daphne, and of course, Draco. They were all trembling before Voldemort. Izar was sure he would have been too if he wasn't forcing himself to calm.

Izar couldn't bear to look at the Dark Lord. Instead, he turned his head back to the floor.

"That is rather obvious, Derrick. _Why _did you go to the man's home? What was possibly going through your heads at the time?"

"My father," Nott whispered brokenly. "I wanted revenge for my father's imprisonment."

"Ah," Voldemort agreed. "And did you, Nott, by chance, realize the extent of your actions? Did you by chance, ever _think _of your scheme affecting me? You have forced my hand early. I have carefully planned out my regime to the public, only for it to be thwarted by my very own followers."

Silence.

"_Crucio." _

Izar tensed, but relaxed when he heard Nott scream. The scream was horrible. It was high pitched and horrific. There really was no other way to describe it. It was ghastly to listen to. Izar could almost hear the desperation coming from Nott, a desperation that clearly pointed the boy's favor in death rather than experiencing the pain.

It had to have been at least a minute or two before it ended. Izar's ears were ringing with the intensity of the boy's screams. He wondered if the screams affected Voldemort or if he got used to them over time. There _was _the option of the man being pleased by the sound. Izar wouldn't put it past the Dark Lord to take joy in the earsplitting screams.

As the spell ended, Izar could hear Nott's quiet whimpers and dry sobs which wheezed past his lips.

"I would like to know if you succeeded in your scheme, Nott," Voldemort continued on a casual note, as if he hadn't just tortured the bloody hell out of the boy. "Did you extract that desired revenge on the man who sent your father to prison? How did you do it?"

"N-no…Izar…"

Izar cursed mentally. He had hoped, wistfully, that he would get by without speaking. "He couldn't go through with it, My Lord," Izar began quietly. "But the man, Appleton, already knew a few of our names. So I was forced to kill him in Nott's place." Izar paused for a moment. He supposed he should just continue on with the rest. Voldemort would never get the full story out of these blundering idiots. "Just as he died, the Ministry arrived. Apparently, Cory Appleton had informed the Ministry of our arrival as soon as he felt the wards drop. We got out of the house just before Derrick and Bole disapparated with Daphne and Nott."

"And?"

"Draco and I fended for ourselves until the others came to help, My Lord, that's all."

Voldemort gave a fascinated sound in the back of his throat. It was all mocking of course. "I am _most_ pleased with you, Bole, Derrick," Voldemort spoke silkily. "You amaze me at your sense of allegiance. Both of you are in your seventh years and yet you run, with a tail between your legs, leaving behind a fifteen-year-old and a sixteen-year-old to fend for themselves against a fleet of Aurors."

"My Lord," Bole exclaimed. "I had thought that Malfoy knew how to apparate. He claimed he knew how earlier, so I would have thought he could escape. And Harrison— the know-it-all Mudblo—,"

Izar rolled his eyes upward. When would they learn that didn't bother him?

"_Crucio." _Voldemort chuckled merrily along with Bole's screams. "I enjoy when you dig yourself deeper in your own grave. I also find this situation tiresome." He kept the hex on Bole as he continued. The screams didn't distract him. "You have all committed an act of disloyalty. All acts of terror, raids, or schemes that involve Death Eater masks and robes should be authorized by _me _and only me."

He took the curse off and Bole gave a delirious cry.

"None of you had the authorization to plan your own attack. Doing so again will result in a _much _harsher punishment, death most likely. You should all know that you're in my disfavor. You'll learn, with time, that being in my disfavor is… very unfortunate on your behalf. When I am feeling a bit unsettled and ill ease, I feel the need to take my anger out on Muggles or Mudbloods. Thankfully, when I don't have any of those around, I use my list of disfavorables."

Disfavorables… it wasn't even a bloody word.

Draco whimpered next to Izar, a painfully obvious sign of his fright.

"For example, I'm feeling… rather bothered at the moment. Who is on my list of disfavors again?" The man was all but murmuring to himself in a gleeful manner, knowing all to well he was mentally torturing all the students at his feet. "Ah, yes, Derrick is one of my disfavorables." The man tisked. "_Crucio." _

So far, Draco, Daphne, and Izar were the only one's who hadn't been _gifted _with Voldemort's punishment. Would the Dark Lord give their punishment out tonight? Or make them wait agonizingly for it?

Once Derrick's punishment was lifted, Voldemort continued. "Your father was of first ranking in my circle, Nott." Voldemort hissed. "Do you not believe I would want revenge myself? Revenge tastes sweeter when you wait and plan it out to the very last drop of blood. Now I can never get that revenge I so rightfully deserve. I had even planned for you to accompany me." Nott sniffled. Even Izar could feel the boy's body twitch from the after affects of Voldemort's spell.

"All of you, get out of my sight." Voldemort stood up, dismissing them with a disgusted hiss. "Your Head of House should be waiting for you. I can assure you, he has all your punishments planned out, even yours, Mr. Harrison."

"Yes, My Lord." The students chorused at once.

Izar stood from the floor, steadying himself before walking toward the doors. He eyed the two oldest students as they stumbled. They tried their best to walk straight, without falling, but their knees and legs shook uncontrollably. Nott wasn't so lucky. He stood, only to fall back to the floor, twitching. Surprisingly, Draco was the one to assist him.

"Izar," the Dark Lord called. "Stay behind a moment."

Daphne's exhausted eyes met his before he turned slowly. Throughout the whole meeting, Izar had yet to look at Voldemort. It appeared as if his luck was about to change. He didn't understand why he was so afraid to look at Voldemort. Perhaps it was because… no…. it _was _because he didn't want to see the utter disappointment in the crimson eyes.

When had he begun to care so much about the Dark Lord's feelings towards his actions? Was it the ring? Or… had he begun to care for the Dark Lord more than he let on?

His fingers subconsciously patted his robes, feeling the brother to Voldemort's wand inside. It was still in his pocket and it was also the highlight to this evening. Although, he would readily admit that listening to Bole and Derrick scream hysterically was just as high up there.

"Come. Closer."

Izar finally looked up at the Dark Lord.

The room they were in was large and white. Columns decorated the sides of the rooms, leading up toward a pedestal-like platform where the Dark Lord stood. The room looked like a ballroom perhaps, with a platform for guests to get something to eat. Only, instead of food today, a single chair sat on the platform. Voldemort's chair.

Izar kept his eyes away from Voldemort, but moved forward. He came to a stop at the foot of the platform and was about to go to his knees until Voldemort stopped him. "No, closer. Come up here, next to my chair. Kneel."

The man sat back on his chair, expectant. Izar held his breath as he took the step up on the platform before kneeling right next to Voldemort's legs. "My Lord?" Izar questioned softly. He didn't want to sound too submissive, but he knew he was already on thin ice with the man.

Voldemort leaned forward, both his hands flattening against Izar's neck. The Ravenclaw stiffened as he felt the fingers dance across his skin before curling around the edge of his mask. Voldemort pulled his mask off, revealing his features. "I had to see if it was really you underneath that mask," the man sounded amused. "So quiet and submissive tonight, my child."

Charcoal-green eyes finally locked with crimson. He allowed his stubbornness to shine through, already noticing the Dark Lord's growing smirk at his actions. "I am on your list of unfavorables, My Lord. I didn't want to take my chances. You were handing out your _Crucios _rather freely tonight. Best if I keep my comments to myself."

Voldemort chuckled.

His long fingernails scratched Izar across the chin before taking hold of his jaw and holding him in place. "I find myself… torn over your involvement with Nott and his reckless scheme." The smirk on Voldemort's face faltered. "On one hand, I am delighted you're taking a more active part in social life, the Death Eaters included. You were, no doubt, the leader of this attack tonight. Your leadership is looked highly upon by me."

Izar's jaw clenched, mindful of Voldemort's hold on his chin.

"On the other hand, I am disappointed in you. I would have thought you would take action _against _his naïve plans at revenge. I would have thought you would realize my distaste for such a…" the man paused, his face contorting disgracefully. "It did not please me when I heard of your disappearance with the rest of them."

"However," the man continued, losing his disappointed expression and transforming it into the expression Izar was familiar with; a taunting, amused sort of expression. "There is another side to what I feel over your involvement." The Dark Lord leaned forward dangerously close. "I'm suspicious of you and your reasons for doing this." Crimson eyes were ablaze as he stared into Izar's innocent gaze. "I can force my way inside your head and find out exactly why you went with them. But how can I spoil the fun? I enjoy this game we play together. It is only a matter of time before I discover your intentions, by then; you would have made your next move."

Izar's lips twisted into a smirk and he gave a light chuckle, pleased significantly. His pulse was racing from the dance he was playing with the Dark Lord to the stare and touch he was receiving from the man. "My Lord, you have no reason to be suspicious." Daringly, he reached out his left hand and curled it around the man's outstretched wrist. It was the first time Izar had ever initiated contact. "I, on the other hand, have every reason to be suspicious of _your _intentions."

Crimson eyes narrowed thoughtfully before they turned to Izar's left hand. More specifically, the middle finger the ring was settled on. Voldemort hissed excitingly, turning his gaze back on Izar. "The ring, of course," a cruel smirk lifted his lip. "How could I have forgotten?"

He hadn't forgotten. It was all in his smirk, in his eyes. The man was too bloody arrogant.

Voldemort frowned and with his opposite hand, he plucked at the leather material on Izar's hand. "A pity you cover it. I will allow you to hide it from the public _now_, but shortly, I will not allow my rightful claim to be shielded." Izar's heart skipped a beat. "Tell me, Izar, what do you think the ring involves?"

Izar found himself confused by the predatory stare he was receiving. This intimacy… this wasn't right… was it?

"My Lord," a voice announced from the doorway.

Izar dropped his hand quickly from the Dark Lord's wrist, shying away from the man. Voldemort sighed, exasperated, before turning to Lucius Malfoy. "Yes?" He drawled lazily. "Have you succeeded?"

Not only was Lucius Malfoy in the doorway, but a few of the other first ranking Death Eaters entered inside the room. Their gold masks reflected off the glossy marble tiles they stood upon. Izar eyed the group of Death Eaters, quickly donning his mask back on. There were a few silver masks scattered throughout the inner circle, proving that Voldemort had wanted more than just his inner ranks present during the Auror attack.

All the Death Eaters stood a distance away from the Dark Lord, careful to show their submission in their posture. Bellatrix, however, was grinning madly in the corner, her onyx eyes on Izar.

"A few Aurors dead and wounded, others got away." Lucius informed softly. His grey eyes danced across Izar before turning back to the Dark Lord. "As for our side, I'm happy to say only a few were wounded, none were captured or killed."

"Excellent," Voldemort praised silkily. "Isn't that so, Izar?"

Izar bowed his head. "Very much so, My Lord."

Snickers were heard throughout the hall and Izar wondered what the hell was so amusing. Voldemort patted him on the head, his fingers digging a bit too deep as they caressed his scalp. "Go find Severus, Izar, you should get back to Hogwarts. Or that old coot might notice your disappearance."

Izar scrambled away from the Dark Lord as fast as he could while still appearing graceful. With his head held high, he made his way to the exit. Bellatrix caught his eye, chuckling as she caressed her wand to her lips. "How's _daddy_ dearest?" Not at all afraid of her, he met her gaze, staring her down as he passed.

"Careful now, Bellatrix," the Dark Lord warned softly. "I'm certain Izar could give you a run for your money."

Bellatrix cackled at Izar's retreating footsteps.

He hurried from the room, catching sight of Professor Snape and the other students at the end of the hall.


	19. Part I Chapter 19

**{Notes} **Lots and _lots _of talking in the chapter. Well, on Regulus' part anyway. This whole chapter is dedicated to the past events— at least Regulus' side of it.

**ALSO:** A lot of people asked why the Death Eaters laughed when Izar responded to Voldemort's question (in last chapter): Well, they merely think Voldemort was mocking Izar when he asked him for his opinion. I mean, when was the last time the Dark Lord asked one of his Death Eater's for their honesty opinion- if he wasn't mocking about it? So they laughed, as they always do when they think Voldemort needs someone to back his 'joke' up.

**Chapter Nineteen**

"This is horrible," a voice whimpered. It echoed across the small room, almost repeating in Izar's ears. "Oh Merlin's _beard_, this is horrible."

"Will you please shut the bloody hell up?" Izar snapped. "That's all you've been saying for the past _hour_." He stared at Draco from across the bathroom, wondering why he had to be paired with the blonde haired Slytherin. Snape assigned them cleaning duty on the first floor bathroom. For the past two weeks, it had been closed due to 'malfunctions', only to be waiting for Izar and Draco to clean it for their detention.

"I swear, Izar," Draco gasped pathetically as he scrubbed a stubborn part underneath the toilet. Without magic. With just a small soapy sponge. "My fingers are starting to look like prunes." The boy shuddered, his face permanently contorted into a scowl.

Izar scoffed, scrubbing near the sinks. He was positive Snape had spelled the bathroom to be even more horrendous than it really was. Mold was scattered throughout the bathroom, dirt, lint, hair and… juices Izar really didn't _want _to look at or think about.

"Get used to it," Izar drawled. He felt a source of magic approach him from behind and he knew all to well it was Tom Riddle. "Besides, that's what they're going to look like in a few years." Draco gave a gripe, pausing to dry his fingers off again.

The expensive shoes clicked on the floor as the man made his way inside. Izar was turned away from the door, hidden behind the many number of sinks. He could almost taste Riddle's amusement from across the room. "My, who would have thought you boys were so good at cleaning?" Riddle mused.

Izar watched as Draco paled, struggling to try to regain a bit of pure-blood self-respect as he adjusted his posture.

"It makes me wonder if I should have you two clean my torture chambers. They need a good scrubbing."

Izar sat up from the sinks, nearly avoiding the bottom of the pipe before he threw the man a smirk. As soon as he sat up, Riddle's eyes were zeroed onto him, giving him full attention. Izar knew his hair was in disarray and his muggle clothes were torn and dirty. He didn't care. "Scrubbing? Scrubbing what? The dust because it hasn't been used in… forever?"

Riddle looked satisfied at Izar's comment while Draco flushed, too disconcerted at Izar's sharp tongue to react properly. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But it would be nice to clean them before my… invited guests take residence inside."

"Care to share who they are?" Izar perked up when he noticed Riddle was truthfully planning on capturing a few _guests _for torture. However, Izar knew the man probably didn't have real torture chambers. Riddle was too sadistic and cruel to extend the torture. Something told him that Riddle favored unbearable torture for a few minutes before getting bored and ending it.

"No," Riddle drawled, leaning against a cleanly scrubbed wall as he observed Izar. "But I will be happy to tell you when they're in my care." His eyes swept toward a silent and observing Draco. "Tell me, what are the other's doing as punishment?"

Draco tensed when he realized Riddle had addressed the question to him. Izar withheld a laugh. The boy was absolutely terrified of the Dark Lord. The Malfoy heir tried to hide it as he spoke to the toilet. "Bole and Derrick have to clean the Owlery with their bare hands and a toothbrush," Draco grimaced. "For a month."

Izar scowled, wondering why the two seventh years got off so easily. Yes, the Owlery was _very _expansive and it would probably give them blisters and sore knees, but it seemed lax. "I think I'd rather be cleaning animal dung than human dung," he observed softly as he wiped a bit of flesh colored stain from underneath the sink.

Draco gave him a look that clearly stated he'd rather not do _any _of the cleaning. "Greengrass has to clean all the girls' lavatories on first and second floor for three weeks and Nott…" Draco trailed off, grinning. "Nott gets to spend the day with the big oaf Hagrid picking bubotubers in the Forbidden Forest. And tomorrow he has to spend it with Professor Sprout, squeezing the pus from the bubotubers."

Izar sneered as he remembered the First Task and the bubotuber he had to search for. They were vile creatures. He paused near a stubborn stain on the ground. Cautiously, he moved his sponge over the blob. It hissed at him before slowly starting to inch away. He sighed.

The day after their excursion, the papers had been in outrage. Izar remembered glimpsing at the front page of the students' subscribed _Prophet, _catching a quick shot of the Death Eaters and Aurors. The journalists pinpointed it to a terrorist group. They had yet to really get it right. Voldemort hadn't accompanied the Death Eaters during the raid simply because he wanted to keep his rise silent until _he _wanted it written in the papers.

Until then, the Death Eaters would disappear into the background again. Eventually, the public's fears would subside, making them comfortable again. After all, Britain hasn't seen any Dark wizards' revolt since Gellert Grindelwald was in power so many years ago.

Cory Appleton's death was noted in the _Prophet_. Killed by the heart attack curse from one of the 'terrorists'. Izar wondered if the Death Eaters were insulted that they were labeled so wrongly.

"Charming," Riddle conceded. "While I agree you two need to serve your punishment, I also believe you have done quite satisfactory so far." The man's wand poked from beneath his sleeve. With a flick of his wand, the bathroom was spotless. Izar blinked and Draco almost fainted with relief. "I need your presence, Mr. Harrison. Come."

The man didn't wait as he swept from the bathroom. Izar slapped his sponge in the garbage, pausing. He was tired. He didn't think he could do any more _dances _with the man today. He peered into the mirror, staring at the dried soapy suds along his jaw line and his wild hair. The ends were curled more than normal today with the wet environment, making him look like a bloody ponce.

He had ripped jeans on and his worn Muggle sneakers. His long sleeve shirt was torn at the hems, completing his look.

Yes, he looked remarkably well…

Turning, he walked from the room, ignoring the stunned and thrilled Draco still sitting next to the toilet. "Careful Malfoy, people may start to think that's where you belong." The Malfoy heir scrambled up, tripping over his long cloak in the process.

Izar stepped out into the hall, glancing around for the Dark Lord. Most the students were at Hogsmeade this weekend, leaving the halls an uncanny calm. A sudden movement caught his attention and his neck snapped quickly to watch a cloak disappear around the corner. Izar followed it, his torn soles sounding awkward on the floors. He didn't necessarily need the cloak to know where Riddle was going. All he needed to do was follow the magical signature.

They were walking down to the dungeons. Izar kept a good distance from Riddle, watching the man's perfect posture from the back. The man commented on Izar's posture as self-hate and confidence… if that were even possible. But Izar admired Riddle's walk. It wasn't so much a swagger; however, it _was _arrogant and confident. And yet, there was a bit of danger to it. As if he walked with the Dark cloaked about him.

Even if Riddle had his political glamour up, Izar could still see the Dark Lord hiding at the surface.

Izar watched Riddle enter Professor Snape's personal chambers. Hesitating, just briefly, he walked closer. The door was ajar and he could see Snape sitting rigidly on a leather couch. The potions master's face was etched of worn lines, bringing attention to the aging along his mouth and eyes.

"Come in, Izar, shut the door behind you." Riddle's voice commanded softly from inside the room.

Izar stepped inside, giving a double take when he noticed Regulus in attendance. His father was sitting on the opposite couch to Snape, his posture just as stiff as the Slytherin Head of House. The man's charcoal eyes all but glowed eerily as they washed over his sons' body. Every time Izar saw Regulus, the man always looked at him closely, almost as if he couldn't believe Izar actually existed.

Riddle swooped from the shadows as soon as the door shut, his hand motioning Izar to the seat beside his father. "Sit."

Knowing better then to argue, Izar's heavy legs gave out near his father. He had a feeling he knew what this was about. But was he ready? Yes. He believed he was.

"Regrettably, I am not here today to punish you, Regulus and Severus. Instead, I'm here to give you my full attention. Your punishment will come at a later date when there aren't any wards to interfere." Riddle's cloak brushed the floor as he made his way toward the fireplace. "Izar, especially, has just as much right as I to hear this… _mesmerizing_ story of you and the Mudblood."

Izar swallowed, controlling his features before turning his body toward Regulus. The man had been in the castle a lot lately. Was it because of Sirius or… Izar's eyes danced toward Snape, wondering. Was it because of Professor Snape? The man was oddly uptight, his eyes anywhere but on Regulus.

While Regulus was _not _wanted by the Ministry, he was believed dead. Had Regulus already gone to the Ministry to declare his continued existence? His father had mentioned something about straightening things out at the Ministry that day of Appleton's murder, in Sirius' office. But Izar hadn't been healthy enough to really listen to the man and he hadn't thought to ask.

And now that Voldemort knew Regulus was alive, the man would be able to walk freely among the wizarding world. So why was he wasting his time at Hogwarts?

"May I have permission to speak freely to my son, My Lord?" Regulus questioned the Dark Lord. Riddle, in answer, cocked his head in answer.

Across the room, Professor Snape was a bit grey, as if he didn't want to hear the past being re-written.

"It's a rather simple and clean cut story," Regulus started. His eyes were on Izar's face before he turned his own body toward his son. It appeared as if Regulus preferred to talk to Izar then the Dark Lord. "Lily, during her days at Hogwarts, was a charming, beautiful, and very smart girl."

Severus nodded curtly in agreement. Izar raised an eyebrow before looking back at Regulus.

"When I arrived at Hogwarts, I was a year beneath both Severus and Lily. She was Gryffindor and Severus and I were Slytherins. Sirius and James Potter, along with a few other friends, were in Lily's year— all Gryffindors of course. James Potter's group tormented Severus relentlessly. Before coming to Hogwarts, my parents bred me well. I was to hate Light, Muggles and Mudbloods, and Gryffindors alike. I wanted to appease them, especially because I found favor in their disappointment in Sirius for being Sorted into Gryffindor."

Regulus paused, smiling softly toward Izar. "And when I finally came to Hogwarts, I hated them all even more for tormenting Severus so cruelly. He was, after all, one of my own Snakes… I took an instant liking to him and tried to protect him as much as I could. You remind me of him at times, Izar. Severus, he just wanted to be left alone. Kids can be so cruel. And I _hated _my brother for the idiot he was."

Regulus trailed off, a solemn expression crossing his face. Izar spied Snape's impassiveness and sharp features. What Regulus said was understandable. Izar could see Snape being teased relentlessly by children during his Hogwarts days. To Izar, Snape was strong, aloof and mystifying— probably as a child too. And children didn't look too highly upon loners at school.

"Because of my relationship with Severus, I was introduced to Lily Evans— the Mudblood James Potter relentlessly flirted with and all but claimed for himself. Apparently Severus and Lily met in their earlier years, before Hogwarts. They were raised in the same Muggle neighborhood and became friends. And throughout the years at Hogwarts, they still met in private to study and speak with one another. It took a great deal of trust for Severus to tell me about Lily. After all, the Black family is notorious for despising anything Muggle. I reluctantly decided to meet Lily…" Regulus looked disgusted with himself. "And I became smitten with her."

Izar shifted uncomfortably. He could never imagine being smitten with a _Mudblood_. They were bred too close to Muggles, the very thing he hated.

"I know what you're thinking, my son," Regulus flashed a smile. "I felt the same. Only, she was _brilliant_. Her mind, at least. She had a mind I could relate to. We spent hours debating over the right and wrongs of Dark Arts and the different properties to Charms and Transfiguration spells. We were the top of our classes… its no wonder you turned out to have a prodigy mind, Izar. You were bred between two smart people. While Lily and I weren't prodigies, we did have intelligence with magic."

"You're going off tangent, Black," Snape drawled, his eyes on the fire before him.

Regulus, his eyes still on Izar, smiled thinly at Snape's tone. "Lily had a bit of Slytherin cunning to her as well. I was besotted, completely engrossed with her. But of course, I was afraid of what my parents would say. This was around the time they disowned Sirius."

"Disowned?" Izar raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

Regulus' charcoal eyes glanced at the silent Dark Lord. "He was too involved with the Potters and he renounced the Dark Lord's ways. So, he ran to live with the Potters the day of his disownment. Keeping this in mind, I was determined to keep my fascination with Lily a secret. It wasn't until her seventh year and my sixth year that she returned my feelings, albeit distantly. There were rumors going around that she was involved with James Potter." Regulus looked ashamed with himself. "This is where I became the fool that led to my current position, Izar. Please… I was young and blinded by a love that wasn't healthy. I was stupid."

Izar looked down at the hand that laid itself on his knee. He knew the man was asking for Izar's understanding. Izar could almost _feel _the man's embarrassment for what he was about to say. "I'm sure you aren't the man you were fifteen years ago," Izar responded truthfully. The man had learned the hard way for his mistakes. "I'm sure fifteen years in hiding was enough time for you to realize your mistakes."

Regulus smiled, his fingers tightening on Izar's knee. "Thank you."

Snape eyed the two from his chair, the firelight exaggerating the sharp angles to his face. "I think you can resume the story from your seventh year," Snape commented. "The part about your _withdraws_."

"Must you make this harder then it is, Severus?" Regulus demanded softly. "I know my mistakes. I have apologized to you already."

Izar raised an eyebrow between the two. Something a bit _more _was going on then Regulus and Severus were letting on. The two were bickering with one another as if Izar and Voldemort weren't even in the room. The Ravenclaw looked over his shoulder at Riddle, eyeing the man who stood near the shadows. Half his face was covered with darkness, the other, visible side of his face, was eyeing the proceedings jadedly.

Regulus hissed beneath his breath as he turned back to Izar. "During my seventh year, I found myself missing Lily and Severus considerably. They had graduated the year before me. While I was at school, Severus became a Death Eater and a member of the Order of the Phoenix."

Izar chuckled lowly. "Order of the Phoenix?"

"The Order of the Phoenix is Dumbledore's group, a secret organization that defends against the Dark forces." Snape answered for him quietly. "I became a double spy for the Dark Lord."

Izar found this extremely entertaining. He twisted his head around toward the Dark Lord. The man looked as if he were struggling to conceal a grin as he gazed back at Izar. "So basically, the Order is Dumbledore's version of the Death Eaters?"

"Naturally," Riddle's voice intoned from the shadows.

Izar turned back to Regulus, catching the man's assessment of his interaction with the Dark Lord. Regulus calmly continued. "My seventh year was the year I also got a personal invitation to work at the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries."

"You became an Unspeakable?" Izar whispered. What were the odds? Having both parents as Unspeakables when he, himself, hadn't known that at the time he accepted his own invitation to their department.

"I did," Regulus gave a sharp nod. "I accepted the job as soon as I found out it was in the same Department as Lily. I worked in the—,"

"Death Chamber," Izar guessed ironically.

"Izar," Riddle started lazily. "Is an Unspeakable as well." Izar flashed the Dark Lord a scowl. He hadn't wanted to tell Regulus. Or Snape for that matter. He wanted the knowledge of his Unspeakable status strictly between Voldemort, Dumbledore, and the others who worked there. But he supposed Regulus would have found out eventually.

Regulus froze, his cold charcoal eyes becoming even colder. "Already? My, our times have changed, reigning mere _children _into slavery." The Head of Black looked at Voldemort pointedly. "What Chamber do you work in?" He asked to Izar.

"I don't," Izar reluctantly began. "I started last year and they assigned me to Time-Turner duty all summer." His mind brought him back to those endless projects. He was hopeful that he wouldn't have to go through all that again this upcoming summer. "But, like you, I'm interested in the Death Chamber."

"You haven't seen the Chamber yourself, have you?" Regulus asked coldly. Reading Izar's expression, the man took Izar by the shoulders. "You saw her, didn't you? Your own mother works there; you must have encountered her there. But you told me at Hog's Head that you never encountered her before."

"I lied," Izar spoke just as coldly as his father's eyes shown. "What was I supposed to say? My own mother ignored the very sight of me? Pretended as if she had never met me before?" Izar asked bitterly. "Not that I minded of course, she abandoned me at a Muggle orphanage. She did seem rather excited to drag me down to the Veil, though." He remembered her odd insistence that he help her. He had agreed, simply because the Veil. To this day, he still held a great admiration to the archway. It's beauty… its mystery…

A glass lamp next to Regulus shattered and the hands on Izar's shoulders grew tighter. "She _didn't_," he spat cruelly.

Izar kept his features cool, but he felt his chest coil in a bit of fear. He had never seen this side of Regulus before. And quite frankly, Izar never thought his father had a cruel bone to his body. He thought Regulus was just bred to worship the Dark and hate Muggles, but seeing the man's mere hate twist his features was a slap in the face. His father _was _Dark. Izar was thrilled to see this side to Regulus. It made him eager to know what Regulus was capable of doing on the battlefield.

Regulus' eyes were normally vivid, especially framed by dark lashes. But when he was angry, they all but glowed.

"That Mudblood _bitch_," Regulus growled, leaning closer to Izar. "What happened there? That day? When you were near the Veil, what transpired? Of course you heard voices; even if you hadn't seen death you would have heard the voices. The Blacks are rather sensitive to death, but did anything else happen? It's very important that you speak the truth, Izar." The man was speaking quickly, fanatically.

As if he knew of the events that had happened.

"No," Izar lied softly, his body stiff in Regulus' strong hold. "Just as you said, all I heard were voices." Regulus looked relieved.

"He's lying, impish child," Voldemort tisked disapprovingly, his eyes observing him from the shadows.

Regulus' eyes widened. And as quickly as his anger came, it was gone, replaced by cool shock. Izar pulled himself away from his father's hold, turning to seethe at the Dark Lord. He ignored his father's alarmed and dismayed eyes on him. It made him feel intimidated.

"Whose bloody side are you on, anyway?" Izar demanded toward the Dark Lord. He was unnerved by both Snape's and Regulus' close inspection.

"You're both on my list of 'unfavorables'," the Dark Lord teased delightfully. Izar scoffed. There was that _bloody _word again. "I'm just curious to know where this conversation is heading."

"No where," Regulus interrupted, his face turning to stone. "This conversation is closed. You heard voices beyond the Veil, that's all you say?" Regulus nodded at Izar before the Ravenclaw could respond. "Good. I trust your word, Izar."

Both Izar's and Voldemort's eyes narrowed into slits at the sudden change from Regulus. Further along the room, Snape shook his head at Regulus' actions. The potions master was just as obvious to Regulus' sudden change in direction.

Izar was curious, but he didn't want everyone in the room knowing why the Veil was so special. And he didn't want to tell anyone about what had transpired there with Lily. Something told him Regulus didn't want the Dark Lord overhearing. But the Dark Lord's interested had been piqued. And there was _no _averting his attention. Nonetheless, Voldemort remained silent. He sunk back into the shadows, surprising Izar with his submission.

Why?

There was the possibility that the Dark Lord didn't want to sound as if he were begging Regulus to indulge. The Dark Lord did _not _beg. But he demanded. Why couldn't Riddle just demand Regulus to tell him? Threaten him?

Something told Izar that Riddle enjoyed the game of finding out for himself.

"With Severus leading his own life and Lily starting her own, I was left to finish my last year of Hogwarts." Regulus continued calmly, slowly sitting back down. Izar was sharp enough to note the tight tension in Regulus' posture. The man was not yet over the Veil incident. "With my obsession with Lily, I began to distance myself from the things that truly mattered."

Here, Regulus looked at Snape. The potions master avoided eye contact skillfully without it looking practiced.

"By the time I graduated, I ran to Lily despite Severus' warnings." Izar continued to watch the potions master. "Severus told me I should be cautious around Lily. He said she had changed in the course of the year. She had joined the Order and she started to meet with Albus Dumbledore more often. Severus claimed Lily was somehow manipulated. I couldn't believe him." Regulus shook his head. "I thought he wanted Lily for myself… how wrong I was." The man's voice turned miserable and Izar noticed the tension.

His lip curled into a smirk.

Did he sense… romance? Between… no…

"A few days after working with Lily, I had noticed a difference. There was a part of me that wanted to leave her as my obsession started to diminish. But, she tried to convince me otherwise. She claimed she was relieved to finally see me after a year. She was also on a brief separation with Potter and before I knew it, one thing led to the other and… long story short, you were conceived in the Death Chamber."

Izar hissed, his face twisting in disgust. "I may forgive you for being such an idiot, but I will _not _listen to _that_."

Regulus chuckled, grinning. "You, my child, are a blessing. Don't ever think you were not welcome on my behalf. I cannot speak for Lily of course." Regulus lost the joy in his expression. "Her manipulations started the day I began working with her. She had me on her hook as soon as I walked through those doors. I can't believe she would… _use _both herself and me so carelessly."

"What are you talking about?" Izar demanded, bemused by Regulus' ramblings.

"She used you to get to me, or more specifically, to get to the Dark Lord," here, Regulus looked uncomfortable. "She knew I always wanted a family. I wanted a son, especially, and she used that to her advantage." Regulus blinked, his expression turning sour. "She also knew my family worshipped the Dark and the Dark Lord Voldemort. Although, at the time, I wasn't Marked, she knew I was interested in joining."

There was a pause and Izar wondered if Regulus was uncomfortable recounting this in front of the Dark Lord.

"She came to me one day, gloom and depressed. It was that day she told me she was pregnant with our child. I was ecstatic, naturally. Only, she wasn't. She expressed her _fears _of my involvement with the Dark Lord. How could we raise a baby safely with such a cruel and vicious man ready to manipulate the child? So, reluctantly, I agreed not to take the Mark."

"How did you feel about that?" Izar asked.

Regulus gave a bitter smile. "I'm Dark, Izar. I will always _be _Dark. But I would gladly give up my ways in order to keep you safe. And that's how she lured me to search for…" he trailed off, his eyes searching the Dark Lord's form in the shadows.

"You may continue. I trust Izar," Voldemort persuaded. "And I'm certain Severus already knows."

Trust. What an _amusing _word coming from the Dark Lord.

"She convinced me to search for the Dark Lord's Horcrux in Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts. At the time, I did not know its significance."

Izar sat forward, immediately intrigued. "Horcrux," Izar whispered in awe. Snape frowned, not comprehending. Apparently the man did _not _know about the facts of Regulus' betrayal. "A Horcrux," Izar repeated for his professor. "Is an object one uses to store part of his soul. Said wizard tears a part of his soul and places it in a chosen item, like a piece of jewelry, for example. If his physical body 'dies', he is never truly dead if he has a Horcrux grounded here on earth. It's really Dark magic…"

He paused when he noticed three sets of disproving eyes watching him. "What?" Izar demanded— a bit flustered.

"Where did you get your hands on a book like that?" Regulus questioned softly with a hint of threat. "You're only fifteen."

Izar looked upward in frustration. When would they understand he wasn't like the average fifteen-year-old? When would they realize he had raised himself throughout the years?

"I would like to know that as well," Professor Snape requested silkily.

"A book in the Restricted Section," Izar spoke coolly. "It was only a small section, just a brief mention of it." He defended himself. "You were saying?" He put the attention on Regulus once again. "Lily made you search for the Dark Lord's Horcrux in Bellatrix's vault. I'm assuming, because you were the Heir of the Black Family, that you had access to the rest of the family's vaults. And rather conveniently, Bellatrix caught you in the act and told the Dark Lord, who in turn, realized you were searching for his most valued possession."

Regulus nodded, his eyes silently telling Izar they hadn't forgotten about the book he read on Horcruxes. Izar knew then, that Regulus would be a difficult parent to fool. The man didn't forget things easily. "Yes, in short. It wasn't until Bellatrix caught me when I realized the significance of the items I was searching for. Lily admitted it to me that it was one of the Dark Lord's seven Horcruxes."

Izar blinked before snickering.

Seven Horcruxes? That was impossible. Well, for _Voldemort _it was. If the Dark Lord had truly split his soul seven times over, the man would be insane. Why did Dumbledore believe Voldemort had seven Horcruxes? Didn't the Headmaster know Voldemort would be a maddening idiot if his soul was split so many times?

Well… the more Izar thought about it, the more he believed that Dumbledore had _no _idea about Horcruxes. The man would believe Voldemort was Dark _because _of the Horcruxes. He may believe Voldemort got his cruel nature, such as killing and torturing, _because _of his Horcruxes. Dumbledore may know just a briefing about the Dark artifacts, but he probably didn't understand the Dark like Izar did.

Or maybe it was also because Voldemort _wanted _Dumbledore to believe he had seven Horcruxes?

Izar looked across the room at the Dark Lord. The man placed a finger to his lips, his eyes alight. It was settled then. Voldemort wanted his enemies to believe he had seven Horcruxes. Perhaps he even wanted a few selected followers to whisper about it behind his back. Izar wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Lord had _no _Horcruxes.

But then what was keeping the man immortal? Unless he wasn't immortal…

"I became furious with Lily when she told me what the significance of the item was," Regulus started off again, casting a suspicious glance at Izar. "I told her I couldn't help her any longer, that I couldn't betray the Dark Lord again. It was then when she broke down crying." Regulus smiled at the ghost of his memory. "Through her tears she confessed that she had manipulated me on Dumbledore's persuasion. She told me she wasn't carrying a child and that it had all been a lie."

Izar grimaced.

"She lied, of course, about the part of her not carrying my child. But I hadn't known that then. I had been so betrayed by someone I trusted, I ran. My life was in ruins. The man I always wanted to follow was hunting me down and I had no place to turn. Severus came to me, my last chance at hope, only to tell me he was sent to kill me. At first, I had thought he would do it… but he told me to run as far as I could as he staged my death…"

Regulus shook his head, his eyes to the ground. "I lost fifteen years because of _her_. I lost fifteen important years of my sons' life because of _her_. She put you through a _Muggle _orphanage." Regulus shook his head again, peering at Izar through heavy locks of dark hair. "I don't understand her reasons, Izar. I don't understand why she didn't keep you and try to pass you as Potter's son."

"It's almost as if she felt guilty," Izar commented pensively. Regulus had a point. Why didn't Lily keep him? Perhaps use him for the Light and glamour him as James'?

"Remorse," Voldemort agreed silkily.

"Lily _Potter_ will never feel remorse for what she did." Snape stood up calmly. "There may have been a brief moment of uncertainty, of the old Lily Evans, when she heard Regulus was killed because of her actions. That is, perhaps, the reason she placed Izar in an orphanage. She couldn't tolerate to see the reminder of what she did to Regulus everyday, throughout life."

The professor paused and he began to pace. "Lily Potter was never seen in public _pregnant_. I believe she hid it from her husband as I know she hid it from Dumbledore. The Headmaster didn't know how Lily blackmailed Regulus into looking for the Horcrux. Looking back now, I realized she disappeared the month Izar was born, only to return despondent and miserable. The Order meetings began to grow sparser and Lily simply _disappeared_. The old crowd of Potter's began to break apart and his marriage with Lily, clearly, is less than satisfactory."

"You do not think she is remorseful?" Izar questioned again. It sounded as if the woman felt torn for what she had done. But still… it didn't matter—

"It doesn't matter," Regulus spat. "What she did is unforgivable. If she was truly remorseful, Izar, she would have looked you in the eye and told you she was your mother. She would have gone back to the orphanage to raise you properly. Instead, she's too cowardly to face her faults, and instead, wants to remain hidden." Regulus held up a finger, grinning bitterly. "But let's not forget that she's starting to become more active. She's heard that I'm alive. Let's see how she plays now."

Izar remained silent. He had to be truthful and admit that it was a relief to hear what had happened all those years ago. It was also a bit disappointing to hear he had been used as blackmail for his father's involvement with Voldemort's attempted downfall. But it helped him understand Regulus better.

As much as he hated feeling it, he felt compassion and sympathy for his father.

Regulus had always wanted him. At least the man claimed so. And Regulus had sacrificed his standings and beliefs for him. Regulus had a life here in Britain and he had to leave it all behind because he had placed trust in the wrong person, because he had held out hope for a family. Fifteen years in a home in Russia, forever secluded, would drive Izar for revenge. He wondered, briefly, if Regulus would claim his rightful revenge over Lily.

Oddly enough, Izar couldn't find himself worried for his mother's life.

"My Lord," Regulus whispered, breaking the silence. "I want to express my gratitude for your mercy. I know I do not deserve it after what I've done." He didn't. And Izar was astonished that the Dark Lord kept the man alive.

_With the exception of the ring._ His voice hissed maliciously. Regulus was alive because of the ring on his finger.

Voldemort finally slithered from the shadows, a cruel smile on his face. "You have your son to thank for that, Black." Regulus' head was bowed. "I do owe you a _Crucio_, however, one I hope you are able to struggle through. But that is neither here nor there. You will be given a proper initiative into the Death Eater ranks when the time allows it. Something tells me your forearm should be _bare _these upcoming months."

Izar raised and eyebrow toward the Dark Lord. "You think the Ministry will interrogate Regulus?"

Charmed brown eyes averted from Regulus to Izar. "I'm only sure."

Izar stiffened. If gossip spread that Regulus was alive, Lily may become anxious and want to exploit Regulus as a Death Eater— a follower of the Dark. "But they don't even know what they're looking for. The Ministry— or the Aurors, if they see the Dark Mark on his forearm they may just think it's a tattoo. There is _no _Lord Voldemort in the public yet, no Death Eaters."

"Oh, my child," Voldemort hissed. "Dumbledore will find a way to convict your father if there is a Dark Mark on his arm, trust me."

Izar settled, taking the man's word for it.

The Dark Lord stood before him. Long fingernails traced the outline of his face almost affectionately. "Meet me near the library after you're finished here. We have a few things we need to discuss. Privately." The man cast a pointed stare at a cynical Regulus. The man was put off by Voldemort's proximity.

"Yes, My Lord," Izar agreed lightly.

He watched Riddle as he elegantly swept from the room. Professor Snape stood up with a sharp nod. "I will leave you two in private." Onyx eyes lingered on Regulus before he swept toward an adjoining room. Izar watched after the man in delight. Though, his amusement died down when he realized he was alone, with his father. It had never happened before. They were always pressed for time or they always had people surrounding them.

"I'm happy to see you're taking this well," Regulus started off casually. "I was afraid to tell you, afraid to push you. But the Dark Lord insisted we speak today."

Izar shook his head. "I wanted to hear about your past. It's horrible, what she did to you."

Regulus gave a thin smile, his eyes eerily vivid in the darkened room. "I could have avoided the situation skillfully if I hadn't allowed my emotions to run me. If I had listened to Severus, we wouldn't be in this position… but that's just it. If I hadn't been the idiot I was, you wouldn't be here, Izar. If I was given the option of reliving my mistakes, I'm afraid I would follow down the same path."

Izar looked away, flustered with the sentimental declaration. He hated himself for feeling the warmth in his chest at Regulus' statement. "I think I would have been here, perhaps not _me_, but another version of myself. After all, you always said you wanted a family."

Regulus chuckled, pleased. "I'm afraid Lily was the only woman I looked at sexually, Izar." His father offered a bit of a coy smile. "There would have been no other children."

Surprise crossed Izar's mind. He had _thought _he saw something between Regulus and Severus, but to hear his father so bluntly confess his… preferences took Izar aback. Gay men, gay relationships, weren't looked highly upon in the wizarding world. It wasn't unheard of, most certainly not. And there _were_ same-sex couples. But among pure-bloods, it was rare. Unless it was practiced from behind the scenes. Izar was sure there were plenty of gay pure-bloods who tiptoed behind closed doors.

"Professor Snape?" Izar didn't even know _why _he was bloody asking. Or why he even cared.

Regulus sighed, looking at the closed door Snape disappeared through. "I'll let you know when I find out," charcoal eyes turned back to Izar. "I've hurt him far beyond repairing. I don't know if he'll ever open up to me again. I can't say that I blame him."

Izar nodded once before turning his attention back to the floor. The rich colors from the Persian rug were highlighted from the flame of the fire. Next to him, he felt Regulus shift closer, the room suddenly turning serious.

"Izar," Regulus murmured quietly. "I need to know what happened at the Department of Mysteries, with the Veil. Did Lily witness what transpired? I didn't press the subject with the others here because it is strictly between us Blacks. A Black family secret if you will."

Izar had an inner dilemma. Should he confide in his father? Could he… trust Regulus?

"I understand if you don't want to tell me," Regulus continued, albeit poignant. "I respect the distance you want to put between us. Pushing you into something you don't want to do is the last thing I intend—,"

"I touched it," Izar whispered before the man could continue. "I touched the Veil. It should have pulled me inside, through the other side, but it didn't. I was able to pull back. Nonetheless, it gave me black skin where I touched it, but the color disappeared within a day. And yes, Lily witnessed it." Izar stared down at his fingers, remembering the mere thrill he got from touching the silky Veil.

Regulus exhaled noisily, burying his face in his hands. "And you're magic sensitive, correct?" The voice was dull, as if he already knew the answer.

"Don't sound too pleased," Izar drawled.

His father raked his fingernails through his freshly cut hair before looking up at Izar. "It's rather ironic that the first half-blood Heir of Black would also possess Cygnus' Curse. I don't know if Cygnus would be amused or disgusted…" Regulus trailed off thoughtfully. "Knowing him, it would probably be both."

Izar sat there, staring at the man blankly. Regulus sat up, cracking his neck before observing Izar. "I know you want to know what I'm speaking of, Izar. And while I desperately wish to tell you, I know you have too many things happening right now. If I told you, you would become distracted and perhaps overwhelmed. I cannot put you through that just now. Perhaps soon."

Izar gave a tight nod. He understood Regulus' reasoning. On the contrary, while curious, Izar _was _starting to feel overwhelmed with everything. This Cygnus' Curse was another mystery that needed to be added to his long list of riddles.

"There is another thing I'd like to ask you," Regulus rotated his body on the couch. His lithe frame was easily flexible as he curled a leg underneath his body. Despite the awkward position, the man made it look completely poised. "Sirius and I were speaking of you the other day. He made me see things from your point of view. You were raised in an orphanage; it must have been a bad experience for you to come out hating Muggles instead of loving them." Regulus paused. "Having a harsh childhood without someone to turn to must have been difficult for you, Izar."

Izar couldn't believe he was feeling so expressive over the topic at hand. He thought he put the past behind him. He tried to hide how much the topic affected him, but perhaps Regulus saw his shaking hands.

"You've probably grown accustomed to taking care of yourself. And maybe you don't trust adults at all." Regulus reached over and curled his hand over Izar's trembling fingers. Izar made sure he had his face turned away. He didn't need the man to see his eyes, the most vulnerable part of his body. "But I'd still like to ask you if you could trust me. I'd like to be a central figure in your life, someone you can turn to with your problem, for help, anything."

Regulus chuckled lowly, lightening the tension in the room. His hand was still curled over Izar's. "Perhaps I'm being entirely sentimental over asking this, but I'd like to be your father, Izar. I want to get to know you as my son."

Izar found himself unable to conjure up any negatives toward Regulus. He _wanted _to find an excuse in order to decline the man's request. But he came up shorthanded. Why was this so difficult for Izar? Even as a young boy he had accepted his hell of a childhood and sworn off friends and anything of the sort. He promised himself he wouldn't accept help from anyone. He wanted to be cold, cynical toward everyone in his life.

But Regulus…

Charcoal-green eyes looked at Regulus sideways. Was it acceptable if he let just _one _person in? The very same person who had risked his life for a child that he didn't even know? That hadn't even been born yet? The man was everything Izar wanted in an ideal father. The man was also flawed, not perfect.

"I'd like that," Izar found himself saying. Merlin. He was such a bloody sap. He cleared his throat, trying to regain the control he had let slip. "However," Izar began quickly. "I'd rather not take this public. Not yet."

"Time is something I have on my side, Izar." Regulus informed, his hand squeezing Izar's one last time before letting go. "I have your acceptance, that's all I need."

* * *

**{Notes}** Hopefully Izar wasn't too out of character in this chapter. I tried my *hardest* to write him as cold as I could. Next chapter, you'll get to find out what you all are so eager to learn. The ring. And _why _Voldemort is intrigued by a mere fifteen-year-old.


	20. Part I Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

"Did you enjoy the heartfelt discussion with your father?" Riddle questioned; a mocking smirk to his mouth.

Izar threw the politician a look as he walked down the corridor. The man was standing casually outside the library, waiting for Izar to approach him. The majority of the students were at Hogsmeade, leaving the castle an eerie calm. "I think you could use a heartfelt conversation, Mr. Riddle. You may not be as snarky."

"I rely on being snarky," Riddle smirked, his arm stretching toward Izar as he came closer. The cold hand placed itself on Izar's shoulder, a claiming sort of gesture. "I understand you have just been handed a great deal of information involving your parents' past. But I hope you are stable and sharp enough to converse with me. We have many things we need to discuss. Some topics can be heavy and I want your full attention."

Izar was becoming wary at the all but cryptic warnings. With Riddle's hand on his back, he was being led past the library and toward the entrance of the school.

"Do I have your full attention, Izar? Or should I continue this discussion at a later date?" Riddle raised his eyebrows in question.

Izar mentally scoffed. Like hell he'd put off this conversation. He had his suspicions of what they would discuss and it would _help _him get answers to some of the heavy questions he was carrying around.

"I'm sharp," Izar responded quietly. Their footsteps were in sync as they walked toward the Hogwarts' grounds.

"Good," Riddle took his hand off Izar's back, pausing before pulling his wand out. Izar controlled himself from tensing. After all, he already knew Voldemort wouldn't do anything drastic inside Hogwarts. With a quick flick of his wand, Izar's torn and ratty shirt was transfigured into a thick cloak. "We're going outside for this discussion. Come."

Again, the man commanded his obedience as they swept from the grand entrance way, out into the brisk afternoon. Izar's brows furrowed at the sudden brightness of October's sun. It took him a long while to get his eyes adjusted from his long stay down in the dungeons. As soon as he was able to look up without squinting, his side was taken once again by the dominant hand of politician Riddle.

Izar stiffened.

He was getting particularly good at not flinching from contact. His childhood didn't consist of any positive caresses or touches but Izar prided himself for withstanding physical contact recently. With Regulus, the man seemed to favor hugging Izar and kissing his forehead in greeting. With Daphne, the girl always touched his arm and made him escort her around the castle at times. Even Draco touched him on occasion.

But all of their touches were… normal. With Riddle, Izar felt his heart skip a beat at every bit of contact. And he was always so conscious of Riddle's touches, it was utterly ridiculous. Was he really this starved for the Dark Lord's attention? Was he like a dog waiting hungrily for his master's approving touch?

Izar liked to think he wasn't, but for some reason, he was just hypersensitive to the man. Perhaps it was his magic?

"How is the portkey coming along?" Riddle started off airily.

"Decent," Izar replied uneasily. "I'm almost finished with it. I just need to test it out myself to see if it works correctly."

"Already?" Riddle raised his eyebrows in praise. "Very well done, my child."

Izar looked away, hiding the pleased flush to his cheeks. "It wasn't very difficult, My Lord. I—,"

"You can take a compliment, Izar, can you not?" The Dark Lord intoned lightly as he led Izar further down the grounds of Hogwarts. It was a part of the castle where not many students visited. They had to loop around a few towers, escaping the students' route as some trudged back from Hogsmeade.

"Thank you," Izar spoke confidently, not at all meekly like he had before.

Silence washed between them as they made their way toward a small pond. It was more of a marsh then anything and Izar's worn Muggle sneakers were soaked as he ventured close to the marsh's shore. Each step was a strong suction as both the water and ground sucked his foot deep before spitting it back out as he moved forward. The grass was flattened near the flooded marsh, appearing like green noodles in a brown broth. It smelt distinctly like water lilies and mud, not very pleasant and not exactly revolting either.

Otherwise, the marsh was a fragment of beauty in simpler terms. The grass that hadn't been bowed over with the weight of water stood abnormally tall around the perimeter of the marsh, shielding the two wizards as they crept closer. There were weeds inside the marsh itself, raging in different colors from crimson red to simple beige. A few lily pads sat clumped together. And while most of them were just a mossy green, some were gifted with hosting a vibrant purple flower on top.

And some lily pads were cursed with carrying a damned toad. Izar eyed them distastefully as their black beady eyes turned to him, croaking unpleasantly.

Riddle's hand led him closer to the marsh, through a tall curtain of grasses. Izar thought the man would lead him into the middle of the marsh, judging from the water now reaching above his ankles, but as Riddle pulled back the weeds, Izar spotted a garden of boulders. It was a bed of large rocks, sitting close to the middle of the marsh. It was disclosed from prying eyes and Izar felt both uncertain and thrilled to be somewhere so private with such a powerful and dangerous man.

The hand slipped from his side, leaving him standing rigidly.

"I used to come here when I was a schoolboy," Riddle declared as he skillfully stepped over a floating lily pad and gracefully sat upon a boulder. He played off a picture of elegance as he patted the stone next to him, inviting Izar to sit. "At night, when the other students went to bed, I would escape out here when I grew too agitated. Much like you, I despised the children here. I was an old soul, perhaps not as old as you, yourself, but I could barely stand their presence at times."

Izar hesitated, his feet still sunk inside the marsh next to the boulders. He had never seen Riddle…relaxed. It was foreign to him and he drank up the sight as much as he could without being too obvious. But even if the man appeared relaxed and serene, there was still that air about him that warned many people this man was not _safe_.

Riddle's lips curled upward and he turned to look at Izar. "Do you not feel comfortable enough to sit next to me? Or do you enjoy the feel of water seeping into your shoes?"

Izar blinked and calmly sat down next to the man. Unhappily, he eyed the damage done to his shoes. They weren't the picture of perfection before, but now, mud caked the outside and his socks were _soaked_.

The man tisked, waving his wand over Izar's shoes. "Are you not a wizard, Mr. Harrison?"

Instantly, his shoes dried, looking newer than ever before. "I don't specialize in cleaning charms, actually," Izar responded, a bit sheepishly. "I was never interested in reading about them."

Silence descended again. Izar stared at the calm marsh. It was actually quite peaceful when he got past the croaking toads.

"No doubt you are wondering why I brought you here." Izar remained quiet, not inclined to interrupt when it wasn't necessary. "You have stumbled across several mysteries, riddles, and puzzles regarding me, and you." Charmed brown eyes turned to Izar. "You have all the clues in your hand, Izar. I'm certain, if you piece them together, you can figure out the answers to many of your most pressing questions."

Izar looked down at his ring and then up at the Dark Lord with uncertainty.

With a stern expression, Voldemort's lips thinned. "Don't you think— if I hadn't wanted you to find out my secrets, that I would have given you so many hints?"

Izar shook his head shortly before turning away from the Dark Lord's overbearing presence. Why was he frightened of finding out the secrets to the Dark Lord? He had expressed so much curiosity…

"I think," Riddle started again. "That you're subconsciously trying to avoid figuring it out because your mind already knows what it's about. You're just afraid to admit it."

"I just don't understand why you're _allowing _me to figure out your secrets. You're the Dark Lord, I'm the Death Eater. Is it not proper to keep my nose out of your business? Should you not be happy I'm not snooping?"

Riddle chuckled. "My business is your business, Izar. Especially when it relates to _this_."

Izar frowned at that. His stomach was twisting unpleasantly. "To what, exactly?"

The Dark Lord sighed, irritated. "I want you to think on your questions concerning me. You have all the dots, Izar, _connect _them." The man hissed out. "I brought you here because I want you in my presence when you figure it out. Surely, if you were alone, you'd come to the wrong conclusion about my motives."

Izar frowned again, turning his body away from the man slightly as he stared unseeingly at the small marsh.

"No," Voldemort ridiculed. "Think out loud. I enjoy seeing how your mind works."

Unsettled with the eyes on the back of his head, Izar slowly began. "I…" he looked into the water, willingly his frozen mind to think. "Er…"

"_Eloquent_," Riddle scolded.

"You make me unsettled, I can't think when you're bloody hovering," Izar remarked dryly.

"Good," Riddle's hands touched the back of his neck, igniting the usual spark between them. Izar's jaw clenched. The man leaned over and whispered into his ear. "You're getting closer."

"Your hands," Izar began suddenly as his mind began to race. It was becoming easier to think when he got over the initial uncertainty of Riddle hovering so closely. The man was just excited, as he always was when he played with Izar. "Whenever we touch, there is a spark of some sort, like magic passing between us, I think." He paused. "That's a question I have, or, have had for a long while now. Just like why you're immortal. How are you immortal?"

He waited for the man to respond. The fingers had dropped from his neck a while ago.

Izar turned to look at Riddle over his shoulder. The man just smiled thinly, a stubborn glint to his eye. Right. The man wouldn't answer Izar. He wanted him to think it through himself. "I can't and will never believe you have seven Horcruxes," Izar started quietly, as if there were others overhearing. "But… there is the possibility you could have _one_ and that Regulus really was on the right path to destroy you. But, that couldn't be. You would have hunted him down and killed him otherwise."

Izar's eyes stared at the murky water near the boulders, wondering. Whenever he began thinking, his mind was lost in its own world and nothing could distract him until he found his answer.

"The ring, Izar." Riddle's voice floated through his mind. "What is the purpose of my ring?"

"Mentor and heir," Izar whispered. "You want to declare me as your heir."

Silence.

Until a pleased and alien laugh sounded from Riddle. "You amuse me, child. So wise and old for your age, yet you are so innocent and naive. It's a pity my touch will all but tarnish and taint you horribly. _That _will be oddly pleasing to me." With the feeling of unsettlement rising, Izar looked up at Riddle. The man was smirking gleefully. "While I intend to use the ring as a political sign that you _are _my heir, yes, that is not my entire purpose for the ring."

Izar's ears grew warm and he knew Voldemort noticed. He shifted away from the Dark Lord, his pulse quickening.

"Child," it was a _horrible _word that came from Voldemort's lips.

"Don't call me _that_." Izar spat. "If you think I'm nothing but a child, why would you want my virginity?"

"It's an endearment," Voldemort replied as if it were rather common sense. "Unless you prefer 'pet'?" Izar lifted his lip, actually snarling at the man. "I take that as a 'no'," the man continued. "I would have to agree. It's rather tactless and disquieting."

"Why?" Izar demanded again. "Why would you want to secure my…" Izar sighed, his stomach in tight coils. He didn't understand the odd _pleasing _sensation that was just as strong as the disgust he was feeling.

"Why indeed," Riddle sang softly. "Continue on with your mindless ramblings, it may answer your questions."

"Why? Because you want to torment me. You find a sick pleasure to make me submit to you."

Riddle's face shadowed darkly and Izar found his throat closing in fear of the man.

"I find that observation rather sick, Mr. Harrison. While I desire your virginity, my goal in life is _not _to violate a boy who is merely fifteen." Riddle flashed his teeth at Izar. "That is the whole purpose of the rings. I want to keep your virginity, pure, and untouched until later. Until both you and I are ready to commit to that next stage in our _relationship_." The man mocked the word as if it were silly. "I have no plans to sleep with you when you are all but fifteen."

Izar felt rather foolish for accusing the man of being a pedophile. While it was a shock that the man wanted him for sexual purposes, there had to be a reason. The Dark Lord was the classification of grace and intelligence. He wouldn't stoop so low to vie for a fifteen-year-old wizard's virginity. It had to be for a good reason.

And then it all made sense…

Izar's eyes widened briefly, before he looked up at the Dark Lord.

"Why would someone secure virginity?" Izar didn't wait for the man to respond, his words coming together quick. "Because they are a magical creature, securing their… _mates _purity." Izar was faint, but he continued. "It makes sense. You're pupils… the Dark Arts do not manipulate the pupil into slits like yours. Some creatures in the magical world have split pupils. And when we touch physically, the spark is a sign of equal souls. It makes sense. You're immortal because of your status as a creature, not because of the Horcruxes. You don't want _anyone _to find out because it will give away your weaknesses to your enemies. You'd rather them believe you have Horcruxes."

Izar sat there, his mind reeling. "That's why you were so interested in me at the Ministry ball last summer, because you knew then, that I was your mate. And it's why you hid yourself back at your father's home. You couldn't use magic to disguise yourself from me, or creature-persona, so you hid in the shadows instead."

He remembered at his Death Eater initiation when Voldemort's fingernail had nicked his skin. The man then continued to lick the blood.

"You're a vampire, one of the only immortal creatures out there…"

Riddle tapped Izar's chin, bringing his gaze back onto the man. "You're partly right," Riddle conceded. "I am a 'magical creature', yes, but I'm not a vampire. I'm something a bit more _superior _to the vampire I hope."

Izar reluctantly agreed.

Vampires were known for their immortality but also for their lack of self control around humans. Voldemort was far too in control of himself. The man was the definition of patience. And when he was angry, he was controlled even then. Essentially, Voldemort didn't even come _across _as a creature. The man was too skilled in humanity and control that the mere thought of the Dark Lord as a creature was slightly laughable.

Whatever the man was, Izar was afraid to find out.

"Then what are you?" Izar's question came out faint. He tried not to think about what this meant for _him_. Him, being a mate to the Dark Lord. It was…

"That is one riddle you will not solve today, Izar. Or in your books. I'm afraid my _kind _is not found in any textbook." The man paused, his eyes piercing straight through Izar's core. "You're angry with me, I know."

Izar attempted to turn, but the hand on his chin stopped him. He was angry, he was furious and lost… uncertain and also a bit pleased. It was a mess and he didn't know what, exactly, to think about these circumstances. The ring on his finger felt hot and possessive. He felt like a mere possession to the Dark Lord. It had been pleasing to be in the Dark Lord's favor, but now, how much of it was because he was the man's mate?

"You're a very independent being, Izar," Riddle's voice was oddly consoling. "By no means do I intend to take that away."

"I'm _bound _to you," Izar whispered passionately. "How can you not think you take away my independence when it's already lost and rightfully claimed by you?"

The man looked pleased with himself at the comment, but sobered promptly. "Just because I may have your virginity, does not mean I have your spirit. Can you now understand why I wanted you in my presence when you found this out? Look at you, going off the deep end." He tisked. "This will change _nothing_." The man reassured, his hands still a controlling factor on Izar's face. "Don't think I'm any less intrigued by you because you are my mate. You're a very gifted wizard and I can truthfully admit that I'm pleased Fate has set me up with such a superior wizard. You surpass my expectations"

Izar stared at the man before him. He hated that the Dark Lord was so understanding at this time. Why couldn't the man be his snarky self and make Izar's hate for him grow?

"The ring on your finger is meant as a security of your virginity, yes, but it's also to protect the both of us. It is very important you keep this revelation silent, Izar. You are the only one who knows of my status as magical creature and it will stay that way; for both your safety and mine. Our romantic relationship is also to be kept behind the scenes. If anyone were to question the time we spend together, we use the Celtic bands as answer."

Voldemort's spidery fingers caressed Izar's middle finger were the ring sat. "To the public, you are my heir. In private, you are my mate." The man issued a pause before his voice turned cold. "I hesitated at using the Celtic bands at all. Even if you are my heir, there will still be a target on you. But it is needed as an explanation if there are too many questions involving our time spent together. I'd rather word get out that you are my heir and not my mate. Until the time is right, keep the ring hidden."

The man's fingers tightened on Izar's hand, his brown eyes intense. "There was also the option of never telling you. I could have kept you as a low ranking Death Eater and never paid you any heed. Only then, no one would be the wisest." A predatory smile crossed his lips. "But I find myself too selfish and possessive to pass that off."

Izar scoffed, his neck allowing his head to bow. "I hate you…" the boy murmured brokenly. But he had listened to the man's warnings and explanations. He now understood the meaning behind the Celtic bands. It was to secure their public appearances. As Voldemort stated already, the public would see them as mentor and heir.

Magical creatures were rather possessive of their mates. And a death of a mate was devastating. It would be best, for both their sakes, to keep their status of _mates _secret. Even from Regulus.

The Dark Lord chuckled darkly, taking Izar by the cheeks once again. "I don't believe you," the man all but sang smugly. "It's the thought of answering to someone, to being bound, is what you hate. Do you not believe I feel the same?"

He never thought of that. Izar was sure Voldemort saw him as a vulnerability. The man was just as independent as Izar was, if not more, surely he couldn't like answering to a fifteen-year-old. Izar smirked at that.

This bond was _two ways_.

Riddle's eyes traced his smirk, answering it with one of his own. "As I have stated before, this will change nothing, at least not now. You need time to think of all this before I pursue you sexually." Izar paled and the Dark Lord chuckled breathlessly. The Ravenclaw knew Voldemort found pleasure in torturing Izar like that. "You are able to act indifferently about this when we leave here, yes? Or should I _obliviate _you?"

Izar narrowed his eyes, insulted. "You know as well as I that I won't become a blushing maiden, batting my eyelashes at you in bloody public." Izar paused; pleased he was able to act indifferent. Inside, though, he was trembling. "I can't say that I'd do that in private, either."

Riddle leaned closer, his eyes sparkling crazily. Izar stopped breathing. Surely the man wouldn't kiss him? However, he found himself unable to stop his body from moving closer to the man, only, the Dark Lord pulled back, smug. "I thought so," the man murmured to himself, as if confirming a silent theory.

Voldemort stood up, his fingers caressing Izar's cheek before dropping to his side.

Izar stayed frozen in distress.

"The ring has other added positives," Riddle purred, towering over Izar. "Dumbledore, for example, wouldn't be able to enter your mind and see this information. You also won't be able to _speak _of it to anyone, with the exception of me. You'll find your tongue tied painfully if you try to do so."

Charcoal-green eyes watched the man's face clear impassively before he began to make his way out the marsh. "You're leaving?" Izar asked before he could stop himself.

The man turned to look at Izar over his shoulder. "Was there something else you'd like to say, child?"

Izar spluttered, offended. But then he understood what Riddle was trying to do. This…this information… it didn't change anything between them. Not in public, anyway. Turning his eyes back on the Dark Lord, Izar shook his head. He was taken aback when the man's eyes swept agonizingly slow over the length of Izar's body before turning away again.

Sitting on the boulder, Izar brought his legs up to his chest, curling his arms around them for added comfort. Placing his chin on the top of his knees, he listened as the Dark Lord made his way out of the marsh.

He needed time alone to think this over before going back to the school.

The first thing he felt was resentment over the whole issue. It was just as Riddle said, he was independent. With Regulus today, Izar had acknowledge the fact that he could let someone in and still be independent, he could still be the same person even if he acknowledged Regulus as his father. What was saying that he couldn't do the same with Lord Voldemort?

His logic over the situation kicked in when he realized that Voldemort was just as affected as himself. Obviously, the Dark Lord would find it difficult to be with someone romantically. Izar knew the man found it worthless to show emotion. But Izar was also thankful that the man was lenient today. Riddle could have been cold and dominating as he explained his ownership over Izar today. Yet, the Undersecretary had done the opposite. He showed he had humanity beneath that manipulating façade. The man had _understood _what Izar was feeling and tried to explain the wrongs of his thinking.

It was almost hard to believe that the man was so perceptive and understanding.

Izar would have liked to believe this was all a hoax. That it was some sort of manipulation the man was scheming up. But Izar was smart enough to realize the signs. Everything connected. It all made sense.

And then he also considered another strong emotion that accompanied this situation.

Lust.

His face burned as hot as his stomach as he acknowledged the sensation. He wouldn't admit to anyone that he found the thought of the Dark Lord _touching _him thrilling. Even simple touches aroused a deep sensation inside Izar. The tension between them was always so strong. But Izar was also logical enough to realize he wasn't ready for the man's physical advances. Not yet. But perhaps soon, when he was more comfortable with himself and his sexuality. And when he wasn't bloody frightened over the thought of it.

Although, the most comforting thing about this mess was that things would be the _**same**_.

Voldemort was a bloody Dark Lord. He wasn't a lover and he wasn't a sappy gentleman who whispered sweet poetic lines in his ear. Izar shivered in disgust at the mere imagery. Izar and Voldemort were both males. They were both _Dark_ and a bit cynical, cunning, and sarcastic. Truthfully, they were also quite right bastards toward one another and to others. Fate couldn't have fit two souls so right for each other anymore then she already had.

There would still be underhanded manipulations on each other's part. Voldemort enjoyed dancing with Izar too much and Izar the same.

It would be exactly the same; only, they would share a much deeper connection with one another that _no one _would be able to come close to.

Was it wrong of Izar to be smug about being close to the Dark Lord? A sort of closeness that none of the other Death Eaters could even imagine? Granted, Izar knew he would have to prove himself more to the Dark Lord in order to be taken seriously. But there was just something pleasing to be the Dark Lord's only.

Magical creatures mated for life. Infidelity was unheard of, especially on the creature's behalf.

"Your mind is going in the opposite direction it _should_ be, Izar," he scolded himself, grimacing. This situation should have affected him more than it did. Instead, he was seeing bloody _positives _to this situation. It shouldn't matter what Izar was to the Dark Lord. It shouldn't matter that he was more important than the Death Eaters. What _mattered _was that he was the Dark Lord's mate. And in turn, he could get away with things a lot easier.

Such as manipulating the Dark Mark.

Izar brushed his jaw along the tops of his knees, smirking subconsciously at the croaking toad without really seeing it.

As the time increased with him sitting in silence, he became unsettled.

His smirk trembled before it fell into a profound frown. The after-affects of basking in Riddle's overpowering proximity were gradually leaving him the longer Riddle was gone from the boulder next to him. Izar's thrill was always at its strongest when Riddle was close by. Now though, the positives of the situation tarnished and he was washed with the strongest emotion he felt over the information uncovered.

Uncertainty.

* * *

**{Notes}** I was so… uptight about this chapter. I still am. I debated on revealing this information so soon. But then again, it's chapter twenty. I think you all deserved a little revelation to some of the mysteries. I'm also not a huge fan of creature!Voldemort, but I hope I can make him as believable as possible. I couldn't see this Voldemort, my Voldemort, pursue a fifteen-year-old without a good reason.


	21. Part I Chapter 21

**{NOTE} **As warning, I am not going to follow the Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire timeline.

I don't know when I'll be updating next. School is starting.

**Chapter Twenty One**

It was rather silly of him, but he did it anyway.

He avoided both Tom Riddle and thinking of their status as mates like the plague. Considering Izar had successfully avoided Riddle for a good month, Izar considered he was getting rather _good _at avoiding. Unless, Riddle found his actions amusing and decided to humor Izar.

In the Great Hall, if the politicians were present during a meal, Izar kept his eyes firmly on his plate or on whomever he was speaking to during the time. Usually Daphne. She was thrilled with his sudden involvement in her conversations and Draco was often seen sneering at her exuberance. Izar rarely sat at the Ravenclaw table. The times he did sit at his table, he avoided the classmates who had mocked him earlier in the year about moving up a grade. Boot especially.

He supposed he was holding grudges… he didn't really care.

Classes were going smoothly, more than smoothly. He was bored beyond what was healthy. He passed his exams with full marks, the same with his essays and assignments. In his free time, he studied magic. He had invented a few spells already, but he wanted to extend his list of invented hexes and charms. The process to create a spell wasn't as simple as coming up with a Latin phrase. No, one needed to _nurture _the magic and birth it. It was a long process, one that Izar found himself capable of putting himself through during the schooldays.

There was one spell, in particular, that he was working on. It had taken him a full three weeks, every night for two hours, before he successfully constructed it. He had yet to try it on his enemies and he was a bit leery. It was his most dangerous one so far.

But he had confidence.

Every night, in the safety of his bed curtains, he would take out the brother to Voldemort's wand and stare at it. He didn't dare experiment on his Dark Mark here, at the school. A few weeks ago, Izar had probed the Dark Mark with his newly acquainted wand. He knew then, that there were barriers around the Mark, barriers that consisted of the Darkest of magic. He would need to experiment with the Mark during Christmas holidays in a place that all but _embraced _the Dark Arts.

Which, apparently, he would be spending the holiday at the Malfoy Manor. According to Regulus, at least.

His father wrote to him, explaining that Narcissa and Lucius would like to have both of them over for the holidays. Supposedly, several Death Eaters would also be staying at the Malfoy Manor for a few nights. It was somewhat of a tradition, apparently.

Izar wondered at Regulus' attendance. The man wasn't even an official Death Eater as of yet, let alone a first ranking one. Thankfully, both Narcissa and Lucius knew of Izar's parentage. There would not be any acting when it was just the Malfoy family around.

Despite having to deal with the Death Eaters, Izar was eager to manipulate the Dark Mark. He had the highest confidence. He also had an excitement he hadn't harbored in a long while. And admittedly, he also found himself looking forward to spending some time with Regulus.

"I'm not wearing these," Izar hissed out, taking one look at himself in the mirror before fleeing from the reflection. "I look like a bloody flop."

Draco snickered. The Malfoy heir was lying down on Izar's bed in the Ravenclaw Tower. His posture was relaxed as he buried his face in Izar's pillow to hide his laugh.

Both wizards were clothed in elegant dress robes. The Yule Ball was starting in a matter of _minutes _and Izar had yet to leave the tower. He knew what waited for him when he escaped the security of the Ravenclaw Common Room. An upset Daphne and a school full of hormonal teenagers, withheld from _dancing _because their Hogwarts Champion had yet to show up. Apparently, the three Champions had to open the start at the Yule Ball at eight o'clock.

Draco sat up, finally taking a good look at the robes. His face fell and he swallowed with what Izar thought was difficulty. "You look… good."

Izar's eyes narrowed into slits and his anger heightened. "You aren't supposed to agree with anything Daphne agrees on." The Greengrass heir had picked out his robes. Because Izar was a fool, he hadn't looked at them before she had ordered. In fact, she had even attempted to show them to him, but he brushed her away, not really caring about bloody robes.

And because of his mistake, he had to wear _these _to the Ball.

"You're right," Draco stood up, his hair just brushing the tops of his shoulders. "You look like a bloody flop."

Izar's lips thinned and he wondered how much trouble he would get into if he transfigured the robes black.

The Malfoy heir blinked before laughing again. This time, his laugh was cool and collected, a Malfoy-sort of laugh. "I honestly never thought _you _of all people would complain about your attire. Honestly, Izar, they look exactly like mine." Draco motioned toward his own robes. They were green and silver, not surprising Izar in the least. "You're just uncomfortable because you've never worn something that doesn't have rips and holes on it."

The boy was right, Izar had to concede. It wasn't necessary to get worked up over clothes, only witches and petty pure-bloods like Malfoy got uptight over their garments. His eyes swept the length of the expensive fabric. He supposed he was uncomfortable because they were so expensive and…well…noticeable. That was one thing he didn't enjoy being. Noticeable. The robes were form fitting, something Izar had to get used to as well.

And they were white and gold. Two colors he hadn't imagined himself wearing. They also happened to be the colors of the Greengrass family.

Before Izar could issue his own retort, the door to his room opened abruptly. The two students quickly turned to look at the man eyeing them in suspicion. Sirius. His uncle's eyes narrowed on Draco's proximity to Izar.

"What are you two doing in here?" The man questioned distrustfully as if he expected them to be rolling on the ground, naked.

Izar scoffed. The man had occasional bouts of insanity and lunacy. Even when Izar was in lessons with the man, Sirius would break off into a mysterious grin and comment on something completely off topic. But Izar couldn't complain. The many weeks and private lessons with his Auror uncle were paying off. He was getting quite skilled in the art, even taking down Sirius a couple times.

"Having hot, sweaty love, professor," Izar drawled dryly as he made his way casually to the door.

Sirius grimaced and Izar completely missed the redness creep up on Draco's neck. The older Black cleared his throat, reaching forward and guiding Izar out the room with a hand to his shoulder. "Well, at least you're quick about it." The man responded lightly, causing Izar to scowl. "Minerva is quite frantic she doesn't have her Champion down there to start the Ball. Nice robes by the way." The man said in all seriousness.

Behind them, Draco snickered. Izar ignored him in favor of staring at Daphne as soon as he exited the Ravenclaw Tower.

She was waiting outside the Ravenclaw Common Rooms, looking exasperated but also…

"You look gorgeous," Izar spoke truthfully. He wasn't like the other wizards who stuttered out their compliments to their date. Perhaps it was because he was, supposedly, gay. But looking at Daphne, Izar wondered who the hell Tom Riddle was.

Daphne was an incredibly short witch, even shorter than Izar. But her body didn't look awkwardly proportioned with a gown. Instead, it flattered her. It was black with a few gold accents across her waist and her straps were made of tiny gold pearls. Her short blond hair was curled into a sort of messy updo with a gold headband accenting the color of her hair.

She smiled, her irritation dissolving when she caught sight of him. Daphne wasn't known for wearing a lot of makeup and tonight, she only accented her features, making her look classical and… stunning.

"I could say the same about you," she teased before sighing. "Your hair. You couldn't have done anything with it, Izar?"

What did she expect him to do with it? Put a bloody headband in it like hers? "I washed it," he replied grumpily.

Flashing him a look, Daphne grabbed his arm. He noted her nails were painted a toxic crimson her toxic crimson. They looked sharp and they _felt _sharp as she pulled his head down to run her fingers through his scalp. "I change my mind. It always looks adorable with the random curls and waves."

Izar forced himself not to flush when Sirius stalked past, laughing at his misfortune. "Daphne," he scolded, pushing her hands away and taking her arm. He paused when he noticed her bare forearm. "How…"

"Makeup, silly, all the girls use concealer to cover _it_."

Further up ahead, Izar caught sight of Draco reluctantly taking hold of Pansy Parkinson's arm, his expression nothing short of misery. Pansy also had a bare arm. Izar pondered. Concealing charms didn't work very well on the Dark Mark. It was if the Dark Lord made it so the Concealing Charm just absorbed right into the Mark. Perhaps he should get a bottle of concealer from Daphne. At least until he manipulated the Mark successfully.

He quickly dropped that idea when he thought of his dorm mates seeing makeup in his possession.

"I hope you've been taking your dancing lessons these past two weeks," Daphne warned darkly. Her expression spoke of pain if he displeased her. "If you make a fool out of me, Harrison, you'll get this heel up your arse by the end of tonight."

She had heels on, Izar noted distastefully. With heels on, she was about eyelevel with him.

"I'm afraid I didn't have time to take the lessons," Izar lied skillfully.

The Ravenclaws had offered lessons to anyone interested. And Izar had reluctantly signed up for a few. He had never danced before but as he practiced, he found himself adapting to the art easily. He blamed it on the Black genes, after centuries of dancing in the family; Izar would most likely inherit some of their skills. In addition, he found dancing a fluid and graceful art, something he'd always excelled at.

She looked up at him, bothered. "You're not serious?"

Before Izar could respond, a frantic McGonagall came swooping over to him, taking him by the shoulder. She was surprisingly strong for an older woman. "Mr. Harrison, you're late," she replied tartly as if he hadn't already known.

Ahead, the hall was empty save for the two other Champions and their dates. Lukas cast a cool stare at him before facing forward, his arm entwined with his Durmstrang date. Cyprien offered a small, amused smile before quietly speaking to his date in French. The Great Hall was full of fourth year students and up, just waiting for them to start the Yule Ball.

Izar thought it was oddly amusing. Perhaps he should have stalled a bit longer…

"Off you go," McGonagall ushered Lukas inside and the rest followed.

The hall was decorated in a winter wonderland. Enchanted snow fell from the ceiling, only to disappear before they reached the cohabitants' heads. Izar was used to seeing the tall Christmas tree in the Great Hall. But every year, he was amazed by the sheer _size _of it. It appeared as if every inch was covered with a glittery ordainment or a soft flamed candle. During study hall, he always watched the students group together and help Professor Flitwick organize the decorations.

Izar ignored the students on either side of him as he escorted Daphne down the aisle. Polite clapping resonated off the hall's walls, a small and meaningless way to celebrate the Champions. Up ahead, Izar tried to avoid the sight of the professors and politicians. Tonight, Izar knew he probably wouldn't be able to avoid Undersecretary Tom Riddle, but he would try his damnest.

Daphne and Izar finally reached the dance floor. She was nervous, he noted. She tried to hide it behind a smile, but Izar could see the strain in her eyes.

Izar placed his hand on her hip and curled his other hand in hers. "You're nervous I'm going to step on your feet, aren't you?" he whispered gleefully. "I probably will, sorry in advance." He wondered if she was regretting her decision to accompany him to the ball yet. He enjoyed torturing her like this, especially such a silly topic.

Above her head, he eyed Severus Snape. The man was standing stiffly among his coworkers, a perfect scowl twisting his lips. Izar chuckled. The man looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Onyx eyes met his and the scowl softened to some extent. Izar couldn't help but to idolize the potions professor. He saw many similarities between himself and the man, especially their childhoods and days at Hogwarts. Izar knew the man was proficient in the Dark Arts and he also knew Snape created spells. Creating spells wasn't easy. It resulted in many deaths and injury. Only wizards who showed in depth knowledge in magic and Latin succeeded.

Izar made a mental note to give the professor's notes back on the Dark Mark.

He snapped out of his musings when the music began. Daphne was all but shaking in his arms as he swirled them gracefully on the dance floor, perfectly in sync with the music. He couldn't help but to grin at her startled look.

"You bastard," she scowled lightly. "You _can _dance. Who would have thought the socially awkward Izar Harrison could dance like any other wizard?"

"Of course," Izar drawled. "You wouldn't truly think that I would humiliate the both of us, do you?" He scoffed mockingly. "To think of humiliating the heir of Greengrass family… it would be simply outrageous."

She was silent for a moment, her face reflecting her excitement at his behavior. "You're smiling." Her painted lips creased into her own smile.

"Am I?" Izar contemplated sweetly before twirling them away from Lukas and his date. The Durmstrang boy glowered at Izar over the top of his date's head. It should have bothered Izar that he was the spotlight for so many eyes, but he found himself oddly calm tonight. Even his robes were becoming less of an obstacle to get over.

"People might start to wonder if you took something before the dance. You _never _smile. For all I know, you could be Professor Snape's long-lost son. At least, that's the rumor going around." She laughed lightly, not realizing how _close _she was to coming to the truth. "_Did _you take something, Izar? Knowing you, you snuck a wild mushroom in your dorm to settle your nerves at being center of attention."

"Where do you come up with these things?"

The students and professors slowly entered onto the dance floor. It soon began to grow too crowded to practice formal dancing, so Izar was forced to dance with Daphne slowly, in small steps. Next to him, he saw Dumbledore and McGonagall pass. He couldn't help but to stare horrifyingly at the Headmaster's robes. Small gingerbread men danced at the hems and blistering snow changed his robes from blue to white.

The man caught him staring and winked. "Would you like the name of my tailor, my boy?" McGonagall rolled her eyes upwards, sweeping the older man away before Izar had a chance to reply.

Thank Merlin.

Daphne placed her arms around Izar's neck, forcing him to put his hands on her waist. Her eyes were averted away from Izar and toward her sister. Izar knew Daphne harbored a bit of jealousy toward her younger sister, yet he also knew she loved Astoria deeply. It was an odd relationship, but one Izar knew all about from Daphne's inconsequential mutterings.

"You have no reason to be jealous," Izar consoled her.

Mossy green eyes shot to Izar, a light blush on her cheeks for getting caught staring. "I'm _not _jealous, Izar. She's my sister." Her eyes shuffled back toward Astoria. "Do you think she's pretty?"

Izar gave a mental sigh, wondering why the hell he had to be having this petty conversation. Nonetheless, he supposed inflating Daphne's ego was a _very _important conversation to the Greengrass heir. Reluctantly, he looked at the youngest Greengrass. Astoria looked remarkably like Daphne. He didn't understand why the girl in his arms was so insecure. "Truthfully?" Izar asked, turning back to Daphne. The girl nodded sharply. "You're more beautiful."

She gazed at him suspiciously before smiling softly. "Thank you."

He spun them so he was facing the crowd. His eyes were attracted to Filch, the Squib caretaker. The man was holding his cat up to his chest, extending one of the poor animal's arms out in a small waltz-like pose. The man hummed the music, rocking his hips to the beat. Izar's eyes took in the man behind Filch, cursing himself at his slip. Riddle stood next to both Filch and Snape, his eyes directed on Izar.

Izar couldn't distinguish any emotion coming from the man. None at all.

"That's Airi Roux, Minister Roux's most recent wife. Apparently, they got engaged just a few months ago. She works at the apothecary in France near the Ministry of Magic. From what daddy says, she can give Snape a run for his money." Izar tore his eyes away from Riddle and toward the woman Daphne was speaking of.

The French Minister, Serge Roux, was dancing with a tall Asian woman. She looked several years his junior with a curtain of thick black hair down her back. With heels, she was at least a foot taller than Serge. The Minister smiled thinly at his wife, his eyes hidden behind the thick frames on his face.

"Married for money?" Izar questioned.

"No," Daphne shook her head. "Surprisingly not. Minister Roux's first wife, his son's mother, divorced him just weeks before Roux proposed to Airi. It's rumored that Minister Roux was having an affair with Airi when he was still married to his wife. She's also the daughter to a very influential man in France. Her mother was Asian and her father was French. A very beautiful couple, and Airi is the product of their joining."

Izar gave a laugh. "Where do hear all this?"

Daphne gave a secretive smile. "If you danced correctly, like _I _do, you'll hear all these secrets."

"Or rumors," Izar muttered lightly.

"And _that _is the gorgeous Kristine Steinar, Minister Steinar's wife." He was turned by Daphne's hands to stare at Lukas' mother.

Daphne had been correct in labeling Mrs. Steinar as gorgeous. She was tall and blond with very distinct features. Despite the fact that Lukas had inherited his father's black hair, he inherited his appearance from his mother. Both Kristine and Bjørn were a handsome couple, robed with the finest fabric and the optimum jewels.

"Any gossip about her?" Izar inquired, amused.

Daphne seemed to hold a liking to Kristine, for she glowered at Izar. "No, only, she's a very hardcore politic like her husband. She's very competitive and enjoys finding out everything she can about her enemies and exploiting them. She cheated out Bjørn's intended wife for his hand in marriage. His original fiancé died of _food _poisoning." Daphne grinned gleefully. "She's my idol. Every woman should be just as dangerous."

Izar felt himself grin despite himself. Daphne had no reason to yearn to become like Kristine Steinar because Izar was sure she would turn out to be quite the conniver.

"If you must know," Daphne continued. "My father was the one who told me about the foreigners. He's expressed an interest in meeting you, Izar." Through her black lashes she gazed up at him hopefully. "Malfoy tells me his father invited you to the manor this Christmas. Tell me you've accepted?"

"I have," Izar gave a nod. "And I suppose you want me to meet your father?"

He didn't know much about Mr. Greengrass, only he was one of Voldemort's first ranking Death Eaters. And Daphne was smitten with him. She was, in all terms, a 'daddy's little girl'. "Naturally," Daphne smiled.

The slow music came to a slow finish before a more upbeat song began. Izar paled, horrified. Daphne, sensing Izar's immobility, sighed before pulling him off the dance floor. "I'm thirsty," she batted her lashes at him. Izar noticed she turned her back on an approaching male. He smirked, wondering if Daphne really was thirsty or if she didn't want to deal with the courageous Hufflepuff coming to ask her for a dance.

A young Gryffindor student, assigned to serve drinks, handed them a requested cup of punch. Daphne took hers and gulped it down greedily. Izar eyed the Gryffindor boy distastefully. The student looked a bit… _off_.

He brought his cup to his nose and sniffed at it hesitantly. Just as he thought, it was spiked with alcohol. Before he could confront the Gryffindor student, Daphne pulled him away by the arm, toward a secluded table. Izar looked over his shoulder at the Gryffindor boy, narrowing his eyes. Didn't the professors put a ward or spell over the liquids in order to _stop _hormonal teenagers from spiking the punch?

The Gryffindor boy showed absolutely no emotion as he stared back at Izar.

"Don't drink the punch—," Izar started as he turned back around. Daphne gazed up at him innocently, an empty cup in her hand. "Forget it," Izar sighed. He would make sure Daphne was accompanied properly back to her dorm without pubescent children groping her. One cup wouldn't hurt.

As soon as they sat down, Draco came striding over, his eyes all but crazed.

"Merlin," the boy started, sitting right between Daphne and Izar without invitation. "This is the worst sort of dance."

"I think it was the partner you brought with you," Izar murmured lightly. Above Draco's head, he watched Daphne shift away from the Malfoy heir. Her face spoke the words she couldn't. Izar wondered why the two were so against socializing with one another but thought it was a bit entertaining. It helped Izar if he wanted to escape one of their presences. All he had to do was mention Draco or Daphne to the other and they would close up.

"Parkinson," Draco spat, looking over his shoulder for good measure. "She's almost as bad as Greengrass…"

The boy went on complaining about the Parkinson girl. Izar tuned him out, as he did quite frequently. His eyes swept the darkened Hall, catching sight of Cyprien, the Beauxbatons Champion, arguing quietly with Lukas Steinar.

"I'm going to go dance, Izar. Are you going to join me?" Daphne questioned as she stood up abruptly. Her tone suggested she was minutes away from cursing Malfoy as the boy continued to rant about Pansy.

Izar shook his head, distracted as he watched Lukas grab Cyprien around the collar and quietly whisper to the redhead. To anyone else, it wouldn't look very threatening, only casual. But Izar sat forward, interested.

Cyprien sighed, pushing Lukas away before escaping the boy's presence and making his way over toward Izar.

"Izar," Cyprien greeted lightly as he made his way over. The Beauxbatons Champion sat down next to him before leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Don't drink the punch." His voice shook a bit, as if he were uncertain he should be telling him this.

Izar looked up at the table, reaching for his cup, only to find it gone. He frowned before quickly grasping Daphne's empty cup and sniffing it. It didn't stink of the alcohol he smelt earlier. It didn't stink like _his _cup had.

"Where is my cup?" He demanded toward Draco.

The Malfoy's cool grey eyes were suspiciously directed at Cyprien before turning to Izar. "Greengrass took it with her," he didn't say anymore, smart enough to realize there was something unfolding before his eyes.

Izar turned back to Cyprien. "Why?" He looked back to where Lukas was, finding the Durmstrang boy conveniently absent of his previous position. Charcoal-green eyes turned back to Cyprien, studying the boy's impassive expression. "Did someone spike it with alcohol?"

Cyprien scoffed lightly, his French accent strong. "Rumor has it; there was _Vesania_ in your cup… "

Izar froze.

_Vesania _is a very potent leaf that disintegrates in liquids. It rapidly spreads through the body after multiplying in black goo in the stomach. The black toxic slime makes its way up to the brain before it destroys it. And rather conveniently, its scent takes a familiarity with that of faint alcohol.

His eyes flew open. "Daphne," Izar cried, standing up abruptly from his table, sending his chair clattering to the ground. The sound alerted many students and Izar rushed toward the dance floor. Behind him, he could hear Draco calling for the professors that were about to escape the hall.

"Professor Snape! Izar—,"

His heart was in his throat as he pushed a couple out of his way as they just _stood _there. They yelled as they fell to the floor, but Izar hardly noticed as he struggled to push himself through the thick crowd of dancing students. They were all laughing and moving, making Izar feel as if he were moving slowly through a terrible nightmare. His body got pushed and shoved and he struggled to withhold a scream of rage.

Instead, he shot his wand in the air, issuing an earsplitting _bang. _

The students all cried out, hands going to their ears. The music stopped playing and bodies stopped moving.

Izar pushed his way to the front, finally catching sight of Daphne. She stared at him unseeingly from a group of Slytherin girls before the cup slipped from her fingers. She reached blindly for her sister before collapsing heavily to the ground.

He was too late.

He was too _bloody _late.

Izar raced forward, his wand flicking toward the spilt drink, nonverbally setting it on fire. Screams issued through the crowd, both at the pool of fire and Daphne's sudden collapsed form. Astoria Greengrass had her hands to her mouth in shock as she kneeled next to her sister.

"What happened?"

Ignoring her desperate question, Izar pointed his wand at Daphne. _"Eructo."_

He dived to the floor the same moment the spell activated. His hands shook as he carefully maneuvered Daphne's head to the side as she began to forcibly vomit. Black goo was ejected out of her stomach in a steady heave. Izar was distinctively aware of the professors stopping before him, assessing the scene, but he was too focused on Daphne's shaking form to acknowledge them.

Izar cast the _Eructo _spell again, this time, nonverbal. Her stomach was forced to heave once more. The black goo was in fewer amounts this time, but still present.

Snape kneeled next to Izar, his wand out and tracing circles near Daphne's head. With the wand movements still continuing, his onyx eyes appraised Izar. "Very quick thinking on your behalf, Mr. Harrison, well done." Izar was too dazed at Daphne's sudden attack to respond coherently. He just settled for a sharp nod. "She needs to go to the Hospital Wing, quickly. There may be more in her system." Snape spoke to Dumbledore this time.

The man levitated Daphne's body after finishing the spell to her head.

Strong hands grabbed him and hauled him up off the floor. "Are you alright, Izar?" It was Sirius, holding him up firmly.

Ignoring his uncle, Izar's cold charcoal-green eyes watched as Snape and Dumbledore raced off to the Hospital Wing with Daphne in tow. He then began searching the hall for _him_.

Lukas snuck outside the hall, catching Izar's eyes before disappearing around the corner.

Izar's shock was replaced with rage as he tore from Sirius' grasp and ran after the Durmstrang boy. He found it easy and quicker when he ran after Steinar than he found it searching for Daphne. Perhaps it was because rage made things quick, too quickly for him to grasp. And fear and desperation made things go by painfully slow.

The students he left behind in the Hall were gossiping quite loudly, exclaiming amongst each other. He didn't find he cared what they thought. Just as long as he got his revenge.

Further down the corridor, Lukas' frosty blue eyes widened when he caught sight of Izar's pursuit. "Du er gal!" The boy shouted in Norwegian before sprinting around a corner. He had his wand out and determination had crossed his handsome features. And yet, he did not stop to defend himself. He _ran_. He was guilty.

"You haven't _seen _insane yet, Steinar," Izar hissed, racing through the maze of the dark corridors, waiting to cast until he got a good shot at Lukas' running form.

He didn't make it that far.

As he ran down the halls of Hogwarts, far from the Great Hall, arms quickly shot out and enclosed around his waist, lifting him cleanly off the ground. Izar struggled, the thirst for revenge on the tip of his tongue. He couldn't stop now. But despite the thinness of the arms, they were too strong to break through. "You will do something you regret, stop this foolishness."

It was Riddle.

And in a red-haze, Izar pointed the tip of his wand to Riddle's neck as he twisted around.

The pure threat that entered Riddle's eyes at the touch of Izar's wand made the Ravenclaw slowly come back to this world. Fear in the pit of his stomach. "Child…" Riddle purred dangerously. "Try it if you so wish to. You may be favored, by you are not _that _favored."

Izar deflated, his body hanging limply from Riddle's hold. He slowly pulled back his wand, pointing it down at the floor, away from the Dark Lord. "I apologize," Izar said stiffly. Briefly, he wondered if any of the other Death Eaters lived to tell their story of pointing their wand directly at the Dark Lord's neck. Probably not.

The younger wizard was set down on the ground, but the hand on his shoulder assured Izar that he wouldn't be moving anytime soon. As he was grounded in reality, his sharp mind finally came into play. It was rather stupid of him to fly down the halls of corridors, revenge on his mind. It was too brash and public. And there was also that small voice in the back of his head that pointed out Lukas could be innocent in this whole situation. He didn't know all the facts yet.

Patience. It was a virtue.

"You aren't known for your temper," Riddle contemplated next to him. His fingers dug into Izar's shoulder as the two slowly walked back to the main parts of the castle. Behind them, Lukas was gone, either rushing deeper into the depths of Hogwarts or making a turn to get back to the main parts. "In fact, I have noted your cool head during situations most wizards would snap from. Please enlighten me why this situation is so different?"

He stopped, causing the Dark Lord to pause as well. "That cup was meant for me. Daphne… she could have _died_. That's what made it different." Izar didn't understand what Riddle was hinting at. How could the man not realize what was so important about this situation?

"Tell me," Riddle leaned closer, his eyes purely mocking. "Do you _love _her?"

Izar pulled back, angry at both himself and Riddle. This situation callously reminded him that the Dark Lord didn't _care _about his followers and Daphne. The Dark Lord's followers were just pawns and puppets. Mere items of amusement. Izar had _known _that. Why did he assume Voldemort had all of a sudden gone soft for Daphne and this situation? Just because Izar held Daphne in higher regards then most people, didn't mean the Dark Lord did.

He was foolish.

His head bowed as he tried to control himself. He would receive no pity from Riddle tonight. Not that Izar wanted nor needed pity, but an understanding for his flash for revenge would have been pleasant.

"No," Izar lifted his chin, staring at the Dark Lord in the eye. "I don't love her." He spoke truthfully, coldly.

But tonight's events made Izar realize that he did care for Daphne, albeit just a bit. It was true that she talked his ear off at times. She annoyed him with her lack of interest in learning and reading. Her feminine practices always repulsed him. However, she was also amusing and she wasn't self-centered like most the children here. She understood duty and family. And she was also innocent in this attack.

Riddle gave a lipless smile before straightening up. An odd glint entered the man's eyes and Izar was reminded with the fact that Riddle knew about the Tournament's doing.

"Do you know who did this?" Izar demanded softly, his voice echoing just faintly in the dark, empty corridor.

The tall man cocked his head. "I have my suspicions," he spoke darkly before walking down the corridor again.

"Who?" Izar asked calmly. Instead, he was cursing the Dark Lord. Just by the way the man held himself, Izar had a _feeling _Voldemort knew exactly who was behind all this. He was just keeping it to himself, watching it all unfold before he attacked with his own scheme.

"The same one that poisoned you in the First Task."

"If I'm not mistaken," Izar drawled, eyes narrowing. "Your answer is not a question to my 'who', but rather another mystifying counter."

As they reached the main entrance, Izar quickly blended in with the sea of students. He left Riddle behind, not at all caring how disrespectful it was. He was angry with the man. Voldemort knew something going on beneath the scenes and he wouldn't enlighten Izar. If he needed anymore persuasion that things would be the same between himself and Voldemort after finding out their _mate _status, all he needed to do was look at this situation.

Voldemort treated him no different.

It was both a blessing and a curse at times.

Izar cut through the sea of students and made his way down the corridor that would lead him to the Hospital Wing. How could Voldemort know who was behind the attacks and not tell Izar? Unless…

He stumbled as he walked, but continued on. What if Dumbledore and Steinar had been right earlier on this year? What if Voldemort was behind these attacks, in order to assure the Norwegians and French did not win this Tournament? It sounded petty, and extremely unrealistic, but Voldemort was vicious enough to go through with it. But why would he put Izar at risk if he was his _mate_? It didn't make any sense at all.

He felt knot twist his stomach when he thought of an explanation. What if everything as of late had been a lie? There was a possibility that Voldemort had known Izar had been Regulus' bastard child at the Ministry Ball this summer. And that's when the scheme started. Voldemort had fed Izar the lie about being mates, only for Izar to put a semi-balance of trust in the Dark Lord. Meanwhile, Riddle was planning on destroying Regulus by killing Izar in the Tournament. All the while, framing the Norwegians and possibly the French, to ensure Britain's 'win'.

Izar knew it was outrageous. But it was a plan he could see Riddle creating. It played with everybody's emotions and trust and it was remarkably well thought out, until the last detail.

Izar couldn't and wouldn't believe it. He knew it wasn't the Dark Lord who was behind these attacks.

But it still left a sour taste in his mouth. And his stomach.

"Mr. Harrison," Dumbledore called further down the corridor. He had a few students surrounding him; Lukas Steinar, Cyprien Beaumont, and that young Gryffindor who was handing out the cups of punch.

"This is Mr. Colin Creevey, a fifth year Gryffindor," Dumbledore started, placing his hand on the shaken boy.

The group was standing in front of the closed doors of the Hospital Wing. Izar shied away from Riddle as the man came striding behind him. He ignored the curious look he received from the man and instead surveyed Creevey. He distinctively remembered Colin from his lessons when he was in the lower grade levels. The boy was a Mudblood, and as annoying as Granger herself.

His sharp eyes took in the boy's pale face and trembling body. The mere emotion in the boy's eyes was a far cry to the impassive one's he saw at the dance. "The Imperius Curse," Izar whispered. "He was under the Imperius, wasn't he, Headmaster?" He came to a stop near the group, eyeing the closed doors leading into the Hospital Wing.

"He was," Dumbledore replied solemnly. He looked at Riddle over his glasses and then proceeded to observe Minister Steinar as the man stalked forward. "Apparently, someone placed Mr. Creevey under the Imperius. Mr. Steinar here," Dumbledore nodded toward the quiet Durmstrang boy. Lukas kept his eyes trailed on Izar. "Claimed he had seen Mr. Creevey crush the leaves of the _Vesania _in your cup and proceed to give it to you."

Izar sighed softly, looking down the long, dark corridor before turning a cold stare on Lukas. "Why didn't you tell me yourself, then?" he demanded sharply.

Before Dumbledore could reply, Lukas interjected. "I didn't really _care _about you. I suppose my morals won out in the end. I told Beaumont to tell you. After all, you'd believe him more than you would myself. He argued, exclaiming he didn't want to get involved in a mere prank. But he eventually told you. A few seconds too late." Here, frosty eyes turned to a guilty Cyprien.

The redhead scowled, turning to Izar. "I have no reason to trust Steinar. Had I known there really was _Vesania _in your drink, I wouldn't have put up a struggle."

Izar nodded sharply. He wondered, briefly, if they were speaking the truth. "Do you have any idea who is behind it?" Izar asked numbly. "Or…" Izar started spitefully, looking at Minister Steinar. "Do you somehow think I was the one to curse Creevey and poison myself again? I suppose you'll find another book in Lukas' belongings that has the _Vesania _text circled. And in turn, you will proceed to find the _Vesania _leaves in my book bag."

Steinar lifted his lip. "It's very plausible."

Dumbledore held up a hand, his magic growing. "That is enough." Sharp blue eyes no longer twinkled and the gingerbread men on his robes ran inside their home to hide. "I had no intention to put the blame on you, Mr. Harrison. I do not believe _you _are behind these attacks." Dumbledore took a step closer to Izar. His eyes were all but glowing. "These attacks are becoming far too bold. They have put other students in danger, in my own school. I will not allow anymore harm to come to my students." Dumbledore looked at Minister Steinar and Riddle. "That is a promise."

Izar sat down on the chairs outside the Hospital Wing.

"All of you are dismissed, go," Dumbledore shooed everyone with a wave of his hand. "Mr. Creevey, you should go to Madame Promfrey for examination. Perhaps a night in the Hospital Wing will do you some good."

The Champions soon left and the politicians reluctantly followed. Riddle was the last to leave. Izar completely ignored the man in favor of staring at the closed doors to the Hospital Wing. Even though he wasn't looking at the Dark Lord, he was consciously aware of everything the man did. Riddle issued a low chuckle before walking away. It made Izar's skin tingle with the mere promise that this wasn't over.

Surprisingly, Dumbledore sat next to him, patting his knee.

Izar turned, studying the man. "I think Ms. Greengrass will recover nicely, Mr. Harrison."

He watched a few gingerbread men peek out from their home before slowly beginning to dance once more. "I know," Izar attempted a grin. "She can be rather stubborn at times."

The two lapsed into silence. Dumbledore kept glancing down the darkened corridor as if he knew someone was hovering close by. Izar wouldn't be surprised if Riddle was nearby. The man was rather overprotective of him whenever Dumbledore was close. "Is there anything you wish to tell me, Mr. Harrison?" Dumbledore questioned softly. The tone he used on Izar was that of a sorrowful grandfather.

Charcoal-green eyes turned, studying the inviting expression across the old man's features. Was this how his mother was manipulated? Did she want to trust Dumbledore with her secrets, hoping he would help her and guide her? Izar briefly wondered who would be the cruelest manipulator.

Would it be Voldemort, the Dark Lord who was rather sinister and sneaky at his manipulations? Whenever the Dark Lord manipulated, his victim realized it after the proceedings were complete. And when Voldemort's victim finally came to the realization that they had been manipulated, they would feel the wash of overwhelming devastation and grief.

Or would it be Dumbledore, an old man whose manipulations were silent and undetected? His voice would lull a sense of comfort and security but they were laced with manipulations. He snared his victims by being friendly. And if his victim were to believe they were being fooled, Dumbledore would look hurt and give every good excuse why they _weren't _being played. After all, how could someone as good and holly be so cruel? It was all for the greater good. The greater good of the Light.

"No, there is nothing," Izar shook his head. "If there was, I would be sure to tell you, Headmaster."

The man's glasses glittered from the torch's flame as he smiled. Before he could respond, the doors to the Hospital Wing opened.

Izar stood up, watching as Snape exited the Wing. The man looked between Dumbledore and Izar, his lips thinning. "How is she?" Izar questioned after Daphne.

"Stable," Snape replied coolly. "She's in a self-healing coma. Her brain is trying to recover from the shock and touch of the _Vesania._ Her father and sister are inside with her." Snape paused, his eyes sweeping the length of Izar. "As I told them, you were rather quick and intelligent to extract the poison from her stomach before it could reach her bloodstream. Good work, Mr. Harrison."

Izar looked down, relieved. "Thank you, professor."

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore nodded gratefully. "You do the school a great service."

Snape didn't reply. He only gave a sharp nod before gliding down to the dungeons. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Harrison." An old, wrinkled hand patted his shoulder before the Headmaster swept inside the Hospital Wing, no doubt to reassure Mr. Greengrass that everything was being 'looked after'.

Taking one last look at the closed doors, Izar slowly made his way to the Ravenclaw Common Rooms. He felt better. There was a chance Daphne wouldn't wake up normal, yes, but Snape had reassured Izar that he had gotten the majority out of her stomach before it could spread.

Right before the staircases, the torches flickered out, dosing him in the dark. Izar quickly turned when he thought he saw a figure nearby. The air felt like Riddle's magic and his shoulders grew stiff as he felt the powerful eyes on him.

"I will see you during the holidays, Mr. Black." The man whispered in his ear before cold lips brushed the sensitive skin of his neck.

Izar turned toward the man, intent to demand the man's motives.

But there was no one there.


	22. Part I Chapter 22

I had this chapter written early. It's shorter than usual, regrettably, and nothing much is going on, but it sets up for the next chapter— which will be Voldemort/Izar's first 'real' interaction among the Death Eaters.

_Thanks_ for the reviews last chapter.

Enjoy.

**Chapter Twenty Two**

Izar had his trunk packed and ready for the holiday.

Because he had an hour to spare before the students would board the train, he decided he would visit Daphne in the Hospital Wing. After which, he would proceed down to the dungeons to speak with Snape and return the man's material. Izar exited the Ravenclaw Common Room and immediately noticed a change in atmosphere.

There was nothing dangerous happening; instead, the change was quiet, almost _too _quiet.

Adjusting the leather binder full of notes written in Professor Snape's handwriting, Izar quickly walked down the moving staircase. A Ravenclaw was walking up the opposite direction and openly stared.

Izar flashed the boy a deep sneer, causing the Ravenclaw's ears to turn red before hurriedly looking away. "Idiot," Izar muttered in distaste as he leaped from the stairs, arriving on the third floor landing.

As it happened, the Ravenclaw boy, a measly second year, wasn't the only one who was open about their observation of him. Izar wondered if it had to do with the Yule Ball incident. Daphne had gained consciousness the day after the Ball, groggy, but completely healthy. Her mind had been in decent shape, as sharp… or as sharp as it could be with Daphne. That was only yesterday. Surely rumors had spread that the Greengrass heir had awoken and was fine?

A group of three fourth year Slytherins looked up from the paper they were reading, catching his eye before bending over themselves, whispering. "Half-blood bastard," the boldest of them spat before hurriedly sweeping the opposite direction.

Izar's eyes zeroed in on the paper in one of the Slytherin's hands. Swallowing, Izar caught sight of his picture on the front. He was too far to read what lies and stories were spread about him this week. But the words they whispered…

_Half-blood bastard._

Izar looked around, a bit frantic when other students turned away from him, as if they harbored a secret. It couldn't be… could it? Izar thought Regulus vowed to keep their parentage a secret. Was it Snape then? Riddle? Sirius?

Entering the Hospital Wing, he quickly shut the doors behind him. He could see Daphne further down in one of the beds, sipping on a goblet. As he approached, she took notice and coldly turned her head away. "What did I do now?" Izar demanded as he came to a stop by her bed.

Tears clung to her eyes, but she refused to let them fall as she narrowed her sights on Izar. "Why did you lie to me? Why didn't you _tell _me?"

"I couldn't tell you if I didn't even know myself," Izar drawled. "What are you blabbering about?"

She sniffed lightly, pointing to her bedside. He turned to look, his earlier suspicions confirmed as he read the headline above his picture.

_Izar Harrison-Black? _

"Rita Skeeter," Izar read out loud. "She wrote the damn article, of course she over exaggerates things just a bit." He added sarcastically. One look from Daphne proved the girl did not believe him. "Regulus is my father," Izar murmured darkly. "I just found out, Daphne. I couldn't have told you."

"She says your mother is Lily Potter."

"'_Mother' _is gong a bit too far, but yes, she delivered me." Izar reluctantly admitted. "And who is Skeeter's bloody source?"

Betrayed mossy green eyes looked at him in the eye. "Lily."

Izar issued an angry sigh, seeing red. The ghost of Regulus' words crossed his mind. _She's stirring. With whispers of my return, she has gotten more active. I fear as if she will try to do something to split us up. _"And?" Izar asked softly. "What is the main issue behind the article?" He didn't want to touch it. It was vile and most likely containing all lies.

Daphne gave her own sigh, almost as if she didn't want to speak to Izar, but willing to gossip. "It's a horrible article, really," she started darkly. "Lily claims that she put you up for adoption after a 'less-than-wise-affair'. Lily said she felt manipulated and violated. It didn't say _rape _in the article, but Skeeter was leaning toward that as she wooed her readers. Lily then continued claiming Regulus was dabbling deep into the Dark Arts like many of the Blacks before him."

Izar's jaw clenched. He could have sworn his tooth cracked. Not only was Lily spinning lies, but she was disgracing the Black family along with it.

"What else?" It came out short and cold, causing Daphne to start.

She blinked uncertainly at him, looking down to avoid eye contact with him. Her hands were curled into fists, her knuckles white. "Well, Lily said she feared for your life. Even with news that Regulus was murdered, she didn't believe he was gone forever. As a result, she put you in the orphanage to protect your identity. She claimed she was afraid to keep you because it would paint a target on you, attracting both Regulus' killers and the more _deranged _members of the Black family. But now, with the Tournament and your publicity, she knows Regulus has taken notice."

Daphne gave a long pause, her eyes narrowing. "Apparently, the _Prophet _claims Regulus was declared 'living' by the Ministry just a few weeks prior to this article."

Izar couldn't believe it. He laughed.

Daphne wiggled deeper into her sheets, her face pale.

"She's lying." Izar declared fiercely. "And she wants the wizarding world to take pity on her. But she won't be able to get Regulus," Izar shook his head, confident. "He's far more influenced then she is in the political scene."

The article was meant to cover her own arse when word got out that Izar was Regulus' son. She had taken the first step; she had spun her story first in order to look good to the public. How else could she explain her reasons of placing Izar in the orphanage? She claimed it was to keep him _safe _from Regulus' supposed killers and the more deranged members of the Black. How ingenious. He supposed she also hid her pregnancy to protect _him_.

"You met him then," Daphne whispered softly, as if she wanted to walk carefully around Izar. "Regulus? My father claimed he betrayed the Dark Lord years ago. And that he was supposed to be dead."

"Your father knows _nothing_," Izar hissed a bit too harshly. He felt a bit guilty when Daphne flinched at his tone. Softening his expression into a cool mask of indifference, he continued. "What happened between the Dark Lord and Regulus is between the two of them." He added quietly, far too soft for anyone to overhear.

Why was he defending Regulus so passionately? Izar knew Regulus could defend himself. But somehow, if felt as if Izar was being insulted when his father was.

"You're a Black," Daphne continued, as if she hadn't heard anything remotely important. Her eyes were a bit dazed as she looked at Izar. "And not just any Black. You're _the _Black heir, the direct heir to the family."

Izar turned his back to her, walking out the room. He couldn't deal with her idolized and crazed ramblings. Not now. "I'm glad you feel better," he called over his shoulder. "I need to see Professor Snape."

He ignored her as she called after him.

As he quickly swept from the Hospital Wing, he met the stares head on. His chin was lifted and his shoulders were strengthened with confidence. Let them talk. The children didn't understand the things around them. If they took a 'gossip' columnist's article seriously, then he had every right to disregard them and their opinions. They couldn't think for themselves. And quite frankly, Izar was confident in his father to straighten things out and point the finger in Lily's direction within a few days.

And if Rita bloody Skeeter came to him, Izar would speak his mind, albeit calmly and poised. It wouldn't do to have the public seem him affected by this article. If they saw him angry, they would mostly likely think they could get to him easily.

A few Slytherin's snickered at his back, and Izar smirked.

Let them laugh.

Raising his knuckles, he knocked on the potions master's doors.

"Enter." The man's silky and cold voice called from inside.

Izar entered the dark and damp room. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness before he shut the door behind him, closing off any form of light. For a few moments, he watched the potions professor dance from one cauldron to the next, his nose almost touching the liquid inside as he sniffed the product. His nimble fingers stirred the solutions in precise circles as his lips mouthed the number of clockwise stirs he needed to complete.

In the darkened room, Snape appeared to be that of an elegant bat. Only his sharp features, lightened by the small flames, gave away the fact that he was human.

Izar's nerves settled in the malodorous and thick room. He inhaled, his eyes fluttering closed for just a mere second. "The antidote for the Swelling Solution and…" Izar paused, inhaling. "And a Blood-Replenishing Potion."

Snape didn't startle at Izar's sudden presence; instead, the man leaned down to turn the flame on low. "Good morning, Mister… dare I say it, Black?" The man finally turned around abruptly, his dark eyes reducing into fathomless holes in the already darkened room.

He scoffed. Of course Snape had read the article already. "Whatever keeps you sane, professor," Izar murmured.

The corner of Snape's mouth lifted as he slowly approached Izar. "What do I owe this pleasure?" As he asked, his gaze landed on the leather-bound book in Izar's hands. Snape raised his eyebrows. "Have you already trialed through my notes?"

Izar opened the book, his eyes on the perfect calligraphy of Snape. The man had written good trial and error potions for trying to eliminate and manipulate the Dark Mark. "You had some very interesting theories, professor. I can't express my utter amazement at some of your potion inventions." Izar began. His eyes were full of stars for the man's brilliant mind. "But I believe I have found my solution to the Dark Mark. Not in potion form." Izar snapped the binder shut and offered it to Snape.

The man paused for a brief moment before taking the notes back from Izar. "You _believe_ you have found the solution? But you aren't certain?"

"No," Izar started softly. "I'm more than certain."

Shapely eyebrows heightened. "Enlighten me."

Izar contemplated. Should he tell Snape? The man had tried for years to manipulate the Dark Mark, only to be distracted with his teachings to finish his experiments. Surely the man wouldn't go to the Dark Lord with the information.

"Can I trust you?" Izar asked quietly. "You aren't so faithful to the Dark Lord that you'd go to him with this." It wasn't so much a question then a statement. The man, after all, had done his own betrayal to the Dark Lord throughout the years.

Snape gave a lipless smile. "I find no harm in experimenting, Mr. Black. Your mind is always curious. I can only help but to sate it."

Izar nodded sharply. Snape was an Occlumens; the man's mind would be just as protected. "I've been reading," he started off. Snape raised another eyebrow, not surprised with that remark. Izar smirked before continuing. "I came across the Protean Charm. As you know, the Protean Charm links several objects together for a common purpose."

Snape's face was impassive.

"I theorized that the Dark Lord uses a form of the Protean Charm to link all the Death Eaters together by the Dark Mark. But…" Izar trailed off, a smirk twitching the corner of his mouth. "What, exactly, is the common factor to _each _Dark Mark?"

"The Dark Lord," Snape supplied.

"Yes and no," Izar continued. "The Dark Lord commands the Dark Marks. But what, specifically, does he _use _to command those Dark Marks?"

Onyx eyes gleamed. "His wand."

Izar smiled. "Yes. He uses the Protean Charm entwined with his own spell he invented, 'Morsmordre'. The Dark Lord is the only wizard who brands his Death Eaters, or more specifically, his _wand _is the only wand that creates the Dark Marks on their arms. The wand, in turn, links them all together for a common purpose. He uses this wand to cause pain through the Mark."

"It is ingenious," Snape murmured, his expression focused elsewhere. "It's his own invented spell, but his wand is the item, or object, he uses to influence the Marks." Snape then turned back to Izar. "And what do you purpose? A sort of curse-breaker?"

Izar cocked his head to the side, forlorn. "That would be far more logical than my… brash actions," he concluded. "Instead, I went the easier path and decided to find out exactly what the Dark Lord's wand core was. And the type of wood his wand has."

Snape's lips twitched. "And how did you go about that?"

The Ravenclaw shrugged. "I broke into Ollivanders." Onyx eyes looked down disapprovingly at Izar. "But," Izar continued silkily. "I obtained something much more valuable than just mere information. I was able to acquire the brother to his wand. It shares the exact same core as his own."

Snape swept past Izar, slowly pacing. His expression was knotted. "Did you attempt to manipulate the Mark as of yet?"

"No," Izar subconsciously rubbed the Dark Mark through his robes. "Every time I hold his wand, though, I can _feel _the ward around the Mark. It's not very surprising. He invented the spell himself. He was smart enough to put a ward up. It's very Dark. But I believe, with the brother to his wand, I can disband the ward. But I decided I should wait until the holidays, when I'm in the Malfoy Manor, just in case something were to happen…"

He trailed off when he saw the dark expression on his professor's face. The man was still pacing, thinking deeply.

"What?" Izar demanded spitefully. He had an inkling he knew what the man was thinking.

"While I applaud you for uncovering the properties of the Dark Mark, you've overstepped some expansive boundaries. If the Dark Lord were ever to find out you have stolen such information— not only personal information, but also stolen the brother to his wand, he will be far from entertained. I should also express my concerns with the ward he has constructed around the Dark Mark. I wouldn't put it past the man to make the ward unattainable to break—,"

"You sound like Regulus," Izar pointed out, put off by the man's thinkings.

Snape turned to him. "Perhaps you need my added supervision when your father is not here. Regulus will _not _be pleased if he hears of this."

"I need your assistance if I need it, sir, _not _supervision. Regulus, while he's my father, cannot run what I do."

He broke off as Snape took him by the shoulders. His expression mirrored Izar's; determination. "Most wizards struggle with the fact that they are branded and owned by the Dark Lord. It is a price to pay for following the man. It is especially difficult to those who are independent. I think breaking the ward over the Dark Mark will not go well."

Izar frowned at his professor. "If I wasn't Regulus' son," he started off softly. "Would you still discourage me from doing this?"

Snape, his hands still on Izar's shoulders, hesitated. His eyes were eye level with Izar and he continued to gaze into them. "I can only express my concerns, Mr. Black. And I will continue to do so. However, I understand your thirst for succeeding in this area of magic. I cannot stop you. I can only provide my services if you shall need them."

Izar nodded, pleased. "Will you be at the Malfoy Manor this holiday, sir?"

"I do not believe so, no," Snape removed his hands and slowly walked back to his cauldrons.

"I'd like you there," Izar spoke crisply. He walked up to the counter behind Snape. His fingers lightly played with the cold leather of Snape's folder of notes. Through his lashes, he gouged for Snape's reaction as he continued silkily. "And I think Regulus would as well."

Snape's shoulders stiffened and he looked at Izar over his shoulder, spying the Ravenclaw's impish expression. The man's mouth twisted into a grimace. "Get out of here, you insolent child." Izar smirked as he turned from the potions room. "Little brats," the man continued spitefully as he continued to throw himself in his works.

"I can say the same about denial-harboring adults," Izar called out softly, shutting the door before the man could throw a hex.

**{Death of Today}**

"I can just _feel _your excitement from here, Izar," Draco drawled. "You look as if you're heading to your own funeral."

Izar looked over at Draco, not amused. "Perhaps I am," he murmured as the limousine came to a stop in front of a large manor. It really was spectacular, Izar would readily admit. It was immense with arches and small towers at each corner. The gardens, even from the car, were exotic and well taken care of. Even his orphanage wasn't half the size as the Malfoy Manor. There were several dozen children that lived there, and yet, only three Malfoy's lived in their _castle_.

"Come on," Draco stepped from the limousine.

Izar reluctantly stepped out from the luxurious car. Lucius and Narcissa were not at the platform when they arrived at King's Cross. Draco informed Izar that they were busy seeing to their guests. When Izar had asked just how _many _guests were there, Draco had smiled softly and exclaimed…

"Just a few," Izar commented dryly as he witnessed a group of children running around the front of the manor and disappearing around the back.

"Just a few," Draco repeated smugly.

Suddenly, he took hold of Izar's wrist and ran toward the wrought-iron gates. Izar stiffened as they continued to run full speed toward the gates. But then he realized there must have been a charm on it, allowing a selected number of people to go through them. As predicted, they crossed the gate barrier as if the iron were merely smoke.

Draco turned, a grin to his face, only to frown in irritation when he spotted Izar's less than thrilled expression. "You know, it's not fun that you know so much about magic. Who would have thought, a Muggle raised orphan would know so much…" Draco kept his hand locked around Izar's wrist as he pulled the younger boy forward.

Izar observed the domineering manor as they approached closer. It was a handsome built manor, one that had a bit of a gothic flair to its architecture.

When they walked up the perfectly structured steps and into the manor, Izar could only blink. He was overwhelmed by the amount of richery and design put in place in the Malfoy Manor. The front entrance way was full of silk tapestry and mighty portraits. Everywhere he looked, there was something to see and observe. His naturally curious mind had trouble noting all the objects and textures littered about.

The floors were dark wood, glossy and scratch free. Persian and other expensive rugs decorated the floors and there were a few stone pillars structured throughout the gothic-themed manor. Gold brushed candle holders stretched high as their candles dripped of burning wax. The frames of the portraits were gold and flawless as they glimmered and gleamed. Oil lamps were in place, even their simple structure didn't seem so simple in the manor.

Even the walls had decorative carvings into their dark wood. It was awe-inspiring.

As they entered deeper into the manor, Izar took note of the many marble fireplaces burning away. Their mantles were expansive and broad, the sheer size intimidating a short Izar. "Now you're amazed," Draco commented smugly. "It is rather a sight to behold, isn't it?"

Gilt mirrors and ornate furniture dressed the rooms. "It is beautiful," Izar agreed.

"Thank you, Mr. Black," a masculine voice approached them from behind. Izar turned, observing Lucius Malfoy as the man gracefully made his way from the depths of the manor. Izar hadn't even gotten past the front rooms and he was already impressed by the manor. Further down the many corridors, he could hear the voices of wizards and witches.

Lucius' state of dress could rival that of the manor. It looked as if the man had walked out from the manor's walls. His ice-blonde hair fell past his shoulders and his equally cold eyes washed the length of Izar's body.

"However," the man drawled pleasantly. "I'm only certain the Black Manors can uphold their name to the Malfoy Manor." Draco dropped Izar's wrist as his father neared. Lucius caught the gesture and raised a fine eyebrow.

Izar gave a small bow at the waist. "Mr. Malfoy, thank you for inviting me to your home this holiday."

"No need to be so formal, my boy," Lucius purred. His walking stick switched hands as he stretched out his right hand in greeting toward Izar. "It is only a pleasure that you could make it. Your father also…" The man added as an after thought, just to be polite.

Izar looked at the hand, noting the family ring on his finger. He thought it amusing, how rich the Malfoy's were. They all but _dripped _of money and gold. And they were not bashful in showing off their wealth.

He shook the hand, marveling at Lucius' tight grip. Izar prided himself with shaking hands firmly, but certainly not _that _firmly. The man gave a predatory smile at Izar before turning his attention on his son. "Draco," the man greeted coolly. His hand landed on Draco's shoulder, a way of greeting his son. Izar noted how much the two looked alike. Both were pale and blonde and they shared the pointed features. "I trust you are well?"

Izar observed their formal greeting. He wondered what Lucius would think if the man knew Regulus favored hugging as greeting.

"And you had trouble pinpointing the boy as a Black, Lucius? My, you must be slipping."

Turning, Izar watched a tall, elegant woman enter the room. She carried herself similar to that of Daphne; poised, elegant, and very feminine. Izar also noted the Black features and guessed that this was Narcissa Malfoy née Black.

Lucius gave a light grimace at her retort, watching as she set her eyes on Izar. "Forgive me for already stating what you've likely heard before, Izar, but you look remarkably like the Blacks." She took his hand in both of hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Her eyes caught Lucius' over his head. "Though, perhaps it's just a gift among the Blacks to distinguish each other among the crowd. It seems as if other lines _lack _that observation." She teased her husband.

"Now, Narcissa, the boys just arrived." Lucius scolded softly. "Surely you don't want to give Izar a wrong impression of our marriage?"

Draco and Izar shared a look, the blonde boy rolling his eyes upward. Narcissa chose not to respond. Instead, she continued to Draco and gave the boy a quick hug despite her son's reluctance at the gesture.

Hugs.

It must be a Black trait as well.

"The Dark Lord is out back," Lucius started, his eyes focused specifically on Izar. "Surely you wish to greet him?" Izar felt his stomach coil at the thought of socializing with the Dark Lord. Couldn't he just avoid the man for eternity? The thought of speaking to Riddle when Izar felt so distrustful of the man, was not comforting. Though he supposed that if there were people around, Izar could easily act as a loyal Death Eater. There was no intimacy, no personal discussions, with so many observers.

Narcissa tisked. "They need to eat first, Lucius."

"There is food out back," Lucius countered, his hand on Izar's shoulder. "The Dark Lord has asked me to bring Izar to him once he arrives."

_Bloody wonderful. _Izar could _hardly_ contain his tremendous excitement at dancing with the man in public, with all his Death Eaters surrounding him. Izar vividly remembered the way they had laughed at him after seeing him with the Dark Lord. They thought he was nothing but a joke, a mere amusement to the Dark Lord. And while Izar could handle himself expertly in that situation, if it were to happen again, he just found himself irritable at the sound of taunting laughter.

"Let me go show him his room first, father," Draco intercepted. "I will deliver him outside as soon as we are finished."

Interestedly, Izar watched as Lucius' resolved expression softened. "Alright," Lucius conceded. His hand let Izar go as he shooed them up the winding staircase. "Make it quick. He is impatient today."

Before Izar could get over his shock at Lucius' _soft spot _for Draco, he was being pulled up the staircase. "Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," Izar called, pulling away from Draco and looking over the railing at the two blondes. Once he had their full attention, Izar continued. "Is Regulus here?"

Lucius' lip curled at the mention of Regulus but Narcissa gave a small smile. "He is not, Izar. But he will be here, most certainly. He gave me his word."

Izar nodded sharply, allowing Draco to pull at him again. He told himself he wasn't disappointed. It had been a whole month since he'd seen Regulus. But the man already told Izar he was adjusting a few things before he could comfortably live amongst the wizarding world. Apparently he was warding the manors again, cleaning them and making them useable.

"Come on, you're incredibly slow today," Draco murmured. "Your room is near mine. Your father's room is adjoined to yours as well. You won't be surrounded by any of the guests. West wing is typically used for 'family'."

"How long are the guests going to stay here? All holiday break?"

Draco made a face. "No," he sniffed, turning his nose upwards as if Izar's question had insulted him. "The manor should cleared out by Christmas day. After which, only _we _are left."

Christmas day was in two days.

Even from upstairs, Izar could still hear the guests' endless chatter and fake chortles.

Surely… _surely_ Izar could control himself from killing a few guests by then.


	23. Part I Chapter 23

**{Note} **Thanks so much for the reviews last chapter. I didn't get around to responding to them, even though I wanted to. :( Just a big 'thanks' to whoever took the time to review!

This chapter got away from me. Sadly. *shrug*. Hopefully it won't be too bad.

**Chapter Twenty Three**

Izar put on his most expressionless face as he followed Draco back downstairs. Draco seemed to have felt the sudden coldness from Izar, for his own mood dropped several degrees. The blonde boy had just been rocking on his heels, excited as he showed Izar his room. Sometimes, Izar wondered how old Draco really was. But then, maybe the boy had never had someone close to him before. Was the boy's childhood cold and lonely? He could imagine a young Draco, surrounded by every single toy a child would envy, but feeling miserable because no one was around.

It didn't matter.

Not right now, anyway.

Izar walked down the steps. His poise was confident and lacking any weakness. Weakness wouldn't be tolerated now, especially when he was on his way to the Dark Lord and his Inner Circle. "You're completely closed off," Draco murmured. "It's frightening when you get like this… I feel like I'm looking at a younger Dark Lord."

Charcoal-green eyes turned to Draco. The boy frowned before turning away. "You do realize that I must be like this when approaching the Dark Lord, correct?"

"It's not just when you're with the Dark Lord. It's almost all the time. You're so cold. And quite frankly, it's frightening at times." Draco eyed Izar suspiciously. "Are you hiding your true feelings behind your mask? Or are you… really like this?"

Was he really having this discussion with the boy? Izar wondered if he should tell Draco he had never been a child. There was _no _child lurking beneath Izar. And he wondered if Draco would be surprised or if Izar would be confirming his suspicions. Even Draco, who was raised to keep his cool, was a child. And every child had an innocence to them, a sort of innocence that was lively and active.

Izar didn't feel as if he had that.

Draco stepped in front of him, blocking him from continuing on. Izar sneered at the blonde haired boy. "That was a foolish question," Draco murmured. "Forget I even asked it." Grey eyes traced his face before the boy's lips thinned at Izar's lack of response. "I suppose I should take you out back."

"Be inclined to take your time," Izar drawled as they swept from the stairs. Draco grinned lightly as he led Izar closer to the volume of irritating laughing and stuffy voices that sounded as if they'd forgotten to swallow.

"Ignore them," Draco started as soon as they entered what appeared to be a large sitting room. The occupants inside slowly hushed when Izar and Draco waltzed through. Some of their gazes were curious and others were filled with disgust.

Izar gazed back coolly. Their eyes… they reminded him so vividly of his days in the orphanage. Why did he feel as if he had gone back in time as soon as he stepped foot in the Malfoy Manor? In this manor, he felt as if he were eight, standing in front of mocking eyes clouded with cruelness. In front of them, he felt belittled.

And yet, he showed no emotion. Just as he had done so those many years ago.

They swept through luxurious rooms, passing before the stares in a blur. Some of the rooms they passed where small serving rooms with platters of food, others were entertainment rooms, and most of them were just richly decorated parlors with alcohol beverages. Izar took note on the many goblets of wine and brandy in the guests' hands. Pretty soon, they'd all be tipsy and more obnoxious than ever. He could use that to his advantage if needed.

As he crossed the barriers in between rooms, he also observed that there were more people here then just Death Eaters. Perhaps friends and associates with the Malfoys, and families of the Death Eaters.

Draco flashed a superior stare toward a few riled guests before turning to whisper to Izar. "The Dark Lord's followers usually sit out back. The Dark Lord doesn't enjoy socializing amongst the guests on his 'vacation'. It's strictly _My Lord _or _Lord Voldemort _during the holidays. Most of these people here, inside the Manor, cannot know that the Dark Lord is, indeed, Tom Riddle. The secret is only known to his Death Eaters, as soon as the Mark is branded on their skin."

It was smart. Most of these guests in the Manor weren't capable of keeping the secret that Voldemort was Undersecretary Riddle. They would go to the next party and drink a few goblets of alcohol and the secret would be spilling from their flapping gums. Izar wondered if Voldemort put a secrecy charm inside the Dark Mark as soon as he branded his Death Eaters. He would make it impossible for them to speak of his identity.

As they continued forward, the sound of the guests slowly diminished and Izar found himself in a plain, dark room. Ahead, a single door stood. Judging from the natural light coming from the crack underneath the door, Izar assumed that the door led to outside.

Draco shut the door behind him, locking them inside the dark room. "Allow us entrance," Draco's voice echoed across the tiny room.

Izar stood against the door, unsure of what was transpiring. Suddenly, a wand was lit and a man cloaked with Death Eater robes all but materialized from the dark. "You may enter through, Mr. Malfoy," the lightened wand pointed at Draco and then to Izar. "But _you_… let me see your Mark." The man's voice dimmed with disdain.

Draco lifted his lip. "You know who Izar is, Mulciber. After all, he's in a rank higher then you are."

Mulciber. The man had a nickel mask on, one of the lowest ranking Death Eaters. Izar remembered passing Mulciber's name in a textbook once. Distinctively, he remembered reading about Mulciber Senior, the one who attended school with Tom. However, Izar couldn't remember the information read. Izar _was _curious, however, why the older man was still in third ranking.

"You will not pass unless I see the Mark," Mulciber continued cruelly, his wand pointed at Izar.

Before Draco could seethe any longer, Izar sighed, irritated, as he raised his sleeve. The Dark Mark was inky black, a sign of the Dark Lords close proximity. The serpent in the skull's mouth slithered in place, excited. Mulciber grew eager at the sight of the Dark Mark before stepping aside and extinguishing his light. "You may pass…" the man ushered them toward the door.

"As if he hadn't known we wouldn't be able to," Draco snipped. "Come along, Izar, the Dark Lord _requests _your presence." The boy added toward Mulciber spitefully.

Izar scoffed, stepping outside. He stared, wondering why he thought the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters would actually be sitting _outside_. 'Out back' was nothing short of an extended addition onto the manor. Outside, the December air felt like mid-September. There were small fire pits in the middle of each table. Black silk cushions sat among the chairs and silk tapestries decorated above similar to that of a gazebo. It was a very large area, one that would seat all the Death Eaters comfortably.

Some Death Eaters were even mingling outside the decorated area, walking along the pebble paths and around the gardens. Small lights were twinkling on the pine trees further in the distance. And a large heated pool sat abandoned further along the way.

Food aplenty sat on the tables and on the benches.

Izar traced the steps leading up to the smaller platform of the Inner Circle. And conveniently, Lord Voldemort, in all his glory, sat amongst them. The platform wasn't very high, just high enough to show their ranking.

"Are you going to go up there?" Draco swallowed, looking ill at the mere idea of strutting up there with all the others.

Before Izar could reassure Draco that he wanted nothing to _do _with the Inner Circle and the Dark Lord, the man in question caught his eyes. The split-crimson eyes gleamed maliciously as soon as they caught sight of Izar. With a long, pale finger, he motioned Izar towards him.

"It appears as if my Master is beckoning me," Izar replied dryly, irritated at the mere arrogance the man exuded.

The Inner Circle turned to see what had caught their Lord's attention. Izar was oddly amused at the wide variety of emotions crossing the Death Eater's faces. "Good luck," Draco whispered before parting ways with Izar. The Malfoy heir walked down two steps and toward the third ranking tables with the other students. Izar felt envious. But he supposed, if he was a silver mask, he wouldn't be sitting with Draco anyway.

Deciding not make the Dark Lord wait any longer, Izar slowly made his way toward the platform. He had a stubborn knot in his stomach that he couldn't shake. If Voldemort really was manipulating Izar… if they really _weren't _mates and the man just wanted to toy with him, it made Izar feel a bit vulnerable. Of course, he would never outwardly appear weak and affected, no. But he would admit to his inner turmoil. If this was all a ruse to punish Regulus for his past betrayal and, in the mean time, frame the French and Norwegians, Izar wanted to go down gracefully.

And that meant allow the Dark Lord to pull his strings while putting on his own show.

"Look who it is…" the woman breathed once Izar reached the top step to the Inner Circle's platform.

The platform had two tables. One with just food dishes and the other table occupied the eleven figures sitting with the Dark Lord. Eleven. The Dark Lord had eleven Death Eaters in his Inner Circle. No, Izar corrected himself. Severus Snape wasn't present. That made twelve. And if Izar counted Theodore Nott's imprisoned father, who had passed away in Azkaban, that would have made thirteen.

Thirteen was a rather superstitious number in the wizarding world. Many wizards avoided having thirteen of anything. It didn't surprise Izar that the Dark Lord thought opposite.

So who would fill in Mr. Nott's position?

He spotted Augustus Rookwood among the Death Eaters, his fellow coworker at the Ministry. The Unspeakable's eyes lazily took in Izar before dropping back down to his plate of food. Lucius Malfoy nodded unperturbedly. And then there were Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, the two dark-haired brothers. There were four older men around the table appearing to be around the same age as the Undersecretary Tom Riddle, in their late sixties. Izar assumed the four men were Voldemort's classmates in school.

He didn't have any guesses as to whom the younger, stout man was sitting near the empty chair.

But he _did _know the woman who was leaning back in her chair, a wicked smile crossing her lips. "It's Izar _Black_…"

They chuckled mockingly.

"Now Bellatrix," Voldemort started. His white hand curled around the empty seat beside him and the unidentified larger man. "Let Izar sit and adjust before you begin to play." How utterly _generous _of the Dark Lord.

Izar gave a twisted smile as he closed in on the group. He could feel the eyes of the other Death Eaters below but ignored them in favor of sitting down stiffly. The Dark Lord's magic nudged at him, a comforting sensation he hated feeling. Especially from a man as dangerous and manipulative as Tom Riddle.

"Eat," Voldemort invited silkily, motioning to the plate in front of Izar. "You are most likely hungry from your venture." Izar was anything _but _hungry.

Bellatrix hunched forward in her seat, laughing underneath her breath. She was all but _giddy_ at the sight of Izar. Her onyx eyes danced merrily. "I see your dearest daddy hasn't offered you any of the Black family fortune as of yet. You still wear second-hand robes, in our Lord's presence… how disdainful."

Izar picked his fork up, eyeing Bellatrix. He wasn't the least bit affected, even with the man next to him chuckling like that of a wounded pig. "Yes," Izar drawled. "And torn and ratty black dresses are most definitely the _rage _among witches…" he trailed off, giving Bellatrix a good eyeful as he studied her rather tatty dress.

The table quieted, only Rookwood's quiet chuckle danced across the group.

Izar tore his eyes away from Bellatrix's glower, favoring the green flames in the middle of the table. The fire emitted a comfortable heat, nothing too blaring and uncomfortable. "I'm sure you know Lucius, Bellatrix, and Augustus." Voldemort cut in smoothly, a smirk to his lips. "And you've heard of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange…"

Rodolphus, Bellatrix's husband, was a tall dark wizard. He had thick eyebrows and a brooding expression plastered across his face. His brother, Rabastan, was a lot thinner and shorter. His eyes all but glittered cruelty.

"And then there is Mr. Walden Macnair," the long fingernail motioned toward the graying dark haired man. Macnair's lips were creased into a heavy frown as he stared at Izar. "And Mr. Cene Lestrange," Voldemort continued.

Cene Lestrange was one of the four older wizards present. He also resembled Rabastan and Rodolphus, giving off the impression that he was their father.

"Here is Mr. Ayers Rosier, grandfather of Evan Rosier, who happens to be in my second rank." Ayers was also one of the older wizards. His head was bald and his eyes were dark, looking wise and cold. He nodded sharply at Izar, surprising the Ravenclaw. He would have thought the Inner Circle Death Eaters wouldn't want anything to do with him. Nonetheless, Izar nodded back stiffly.

"Mr. Read Avery. His son is also in the lower ranking group…" the aging man scowled at Izar, ignoring him entirely in favor of sipping at his mead.

Voldemort tisked before moving on to the last older man in the group. "And then we have Mr. Evelyn Mulciber. You have already met his son, I'm sure." Voldemort's voice turned sour at the mention of the younger Mulciber.

Mulciber was the third ranking Death Eater Izar had encountered before he entered out back. He bit his tongue, refraining from asking why Mulciber's son was so low in the ranking.

"And lastly, we have Mr. Antonin Dolohov." Voldemort waved his hand dismissingly toward the stout man next to Izar. The one that laughed like a pig and whose appearance was similar to that of a boar. The man's double chin shook as he stared down his nose disapprovingly at Izar. His beady eyes were blue and they had an odd glint in them.

"A Black…" the older Avery burred. His brown eyes assessed Izar from across the table. "My Lord, do you reckon his mind is clean? The decent Blacks ran out decades ago. The interbred offspring's tend to be a bit…" he trailed off, looking at Izar in distaste. "Insane."

Izar scowled as did Bellatrix.

"Don't pretend your lineage is as unadulterated as you believe it to be, Avery," The Dark Lord began, a sinister quality to his tone. Izar looked at the man from the corner of his eye. Riddle's glamour was down, revealing the long black hair tied to the nape of his neck and the sharp, aristocratic features. The Dark Lord wasn't stunning or even very handsome but he wasn't unattractive by any means. It was the man's aura and charisma that drew many people to him. It was his power and lure.

Crimson eyes turned to him, catching his observation.

Izar turned away, watching as Avery flushed an ugly crimson. "My Lord," Avery whispered, his head bowing to show his submission. "I am merely pointing out a fact. The boy's grandparents, Orion and Walburga, were cousins. His father turned out rotten and his uncle turned the other side of the coin. Andromeda Black married a damned _Muggle. _The more they interbred, the more insane they become." He looked at Bellatrix.

The man next to Izar, Dolohov, gave another laugh, like that of a dying pig. Izar's jaw clenched, irritated.

"I hope you realize you are insulting my wife, Avery," Lucius replied curtly, sipping pleasantly at his wine. His tone may have been sugar coated, but his grey eyes were cold as they pinned Avery with a stare.

Izar smirked.

Avery shook his head, throwing his arms up in surrender.

"Perhaps Avery is wording his suspicions wrong," Mulciber began calmly. "He just wishes to express his concerns with the boy's loyalty, My Lord. His father, after all, betrayed you—,"

"What transpired between Regulus Black and I will remain private." The Dark Lord began, cutting Mulciber off completely. "Izar," the man purred. "Should not be pre-judged from his father's past mistakes."

The group was silent. Most of their distaste of Izar showed on their faces with the exception of Rookwood and Lucius. The others didn't understand why the Dark Lord was so forgiving of Regulus. Despite their obliviousness regarding what Regulus _did, _exactly, they knew Regulus had betrayed the Dark Lord. They didn't understand why Regulus was still living. And they didn't understand the Dark Lord's favoritism of Izar.

And Izar was not very appreciative of their discussing him as if he wasn't even present.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord's hand clamped over Izar's leg underneath the table. The Ravenclaw stiffened, but remained emotionless otherwise. Voldemort was a picture of innocence as he twirled the steam of his goblet with his free hand.

Merlin. Izar was a bloody _pansy. _It was a bloody hand…

"Where is your daddy dearest?" Bellatrix fluttered her lashes mockingly, her bottom lip curling. Next to her, Lucius' grey eyes raised upwards, as if he were trying to control his sigh of displeasure. "Out raping more Mudbloods?"

The Death Eaters chuckled. Somehow, Bellatrix's and Dolohov's chortles were the loudest and most earsplitting to Izar's ears. His fists tightened over his fork and his temper got the better of him.

The small dinner roll on Izar's plate flew into Dolohov's open mouth, successfully shutting the man's snorting. Just as Izar's fork descended into the flesh of Dolohov's hand, Bellatrix's glass shattered. She yelped, standing quickly from her chair to avoid the glass shards flying toward her face and neck. She raised her arms, the glass cutting long, horizontal lesions into her forearms. Her black eyes were deranged as she snarled at Izar.

Matching her reflexes, Izar's and Bellatrix's wand met point to point.

He would have been standing with her, but the hand on his leg grew overpowering and restricting. Izar was forced to sit, his wand drawn and ready as his cold eyes matched hers. Next to him, Dolohov was heaving, choking on the roll in his throat. His hands shakily went to his neck, the fork still hanging in his hand. Crimson blood stained the table cloth and his robes. No one paid the man any heed. They let him choke until Mulciber reluctantly freed him of the dinner roll when the man's lips turned blue hue.

"Put your wand _down_," Voldemort hissed. "Both of you."

Izar's vision tunneled. He could only see Bellatrix and she could only see him.

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed; her eyes still on Izar. "With all due respect, this is long overdue. He needs to prove himself worthy of the Black name. And if he wants to defend his dearest _daddy_… it's only proper to duel." Bellatrix licked her bottom lip agonizingly slowly, a crazed grin on her lips. "You, yourself, My Lord, have claimed the boy can hold his own. I think its time he proves us all."

"If I say the boy is worthy, my word is all that is needed. Do you not agree, Bellatrix?" The Dark Lord's voice was just as cold as Izar's stare. It sent goose bumps the length of everybody present. Bellatrix was forced to tear her eyes away from Izar to look at the Dark Lord in submission.

"No," Izar spoke before she could step down. "I think she's right."

He probably wasn't thinking very logically at the moment. But if this was a few months ago, he would have surely hid behind the Dark Lord. Now though, he had training with dueling. And Bellatrix was a thorn on his side. Let them all see he was capable of defending himself.

The hand moved itself from Izar slowly. "Then so be it," the Dark Lord whispered darkly.

Bellatrix didn't waste any time. She slashed her wand through the air, sending Izar flying off his chair and off the raised platform. He tumbled into the snow, rolling before coming to an abrupt stop in front of a frozen garden.

He quickly jumped up, getting into a defensive crouch. Charcoal-green eyes watched as Bellatrix leaped from the platform and landed into the snow in a lethal crouch. The Death Eaters on the stone patio stood up. The lowest ranking Death Eaters all ran to the edge of the patio, watching with barely hidden excitement. The other ranks were much more casual and poised about their observation.

"Anything is game," Bellatrix set the rules. "No killing curse. Loss of limbs or organs is within the boundaries." Bellatrix snapped her teeth together in a large grin. "Look at you… has my dearest cousin been teaching you Auror maneuvers?"

Izar cast a nonverbal curse at her, tired of her mouth. She quickly dodged it, hissing before throwing her own curse.

They tiptoed around each other for a good few minutes, testing out their weaknesses and strengths. They made their way further away from the patio and closer to the pool. The spectators could still see clearly, but they wouldn't be in the crossfire of any stray or deflected curses.

Izar noticed Bellatrix was arrogant in her dueling. And yet, she had every right to be confident of her skills. There were rumors that the Dark Lord had taught her when she was younger. She was one of the Dark Lord's second in command, famous for her leadership and dueling. But she was arrogant and rather crazed.

Izar leaped into the snow when she screamed out a curse. His body shook as it nearly missed his crotch. The spectators gave howls, imagining the spell connecting with their own privates. It was a hex many angry wives cast on their husbands if they ever found out they had slept with another. The spell destroyed the manhood, effectively leaving it useless forever.

His wide eyes looked at his distant relative in shock. It shouldn't have surprised him she would have carelessly destroyed his _manhood _but it shook him all the same. Her thin legs were bent, revealing the knee length leather boots she wore. She wiped away a black curl that dropped into her eyes, setting her predatory gaze on Izar once more.

Over her shoulder, Izar caught sight of the patio of observers. Lying there, in the deep snow, he knew they were all cheering for Bellatrix. Their gazes spoke tales as they eyed the duel hungrily. They all wanted a reason to prove their suspicions that Izar was worthless. They wanted him to be hurt, to be harmed and humiliated. And more importantly, they wanted a valid reason for the Dark Lord's favoritism to turn away from Izar. After all, they were right to assume he was weak… he was _nothing _but a Half-blood bastard, the result of a 'rape'. How could he be looked high upon by the Dark Lord Voldemort if he was so weak?

The cold determination washed through Izar, solidifying. This was no longer about defending Regulus' honor; this was about defending Izar's position among the Death Eaters. This was about proving himself.

Rolling away from a curse being fired, Izar leaped up, issuing curse after curse at Bellatrix. Their earlier dueling session seemed innocent and light in comparison to the pace now. Nonverbal hexes were the favorite and blocking shields were thrown aside in favor of spinning away or dodging. Izar flung his concentration into the duel, far too determined to lose. He couldn't. He _wouldn't. _

Bellatrix breathed heavily, crouching as Izar threw a slicing hex her way. It hit the tree trunk behind her, cutting deeply into the wood. She crossed her wand quickly through the air in an imaginary 'X' before flinging her wand out, her wrist snapping at the action.

An icy blue hex came at him so fast; he couldn't dodge or raise a shield in time. He grunted as he was knocked backward. The hex burned as it sliced through his robes and eventually through the skin on his chest. He wheezed loudly as warm blood soaked his cold skin. Izar never imagined being comforted by the feel of his own blood. It was so _warm_.

The Death Eaters grew loud with excitement at Bellatrix's upper hand. He could hear the laughing and _that _got on his nerves.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Bellatrix murmured the disarming charm.

It would have hit him and his wand would have gone soaring if Izar hadn't thrown up a wall of snow and ice. It stood as a protective wall in front of him as he clumsily sealed the wound to his chest. He didn't excel in healing charms, but he knew enough to stop it from bleeding.

"Hiding my sweet cousin?" Bellatrix taunted and the Death Eaters laughed.

Izar clenched his jaw, his sweaty hair in his face as he pointed his wand toward the pool. The water's surface crystallized before turning into a solid chunk of ice. Bellatrix hadn't noticed. Her attention was on the ice wall in front of her as she taunted Izar.

Swiftly, he rolled out from the ice wall and ran toward the pool of frozen water. He slid on the ice, skating across the icy surface. Izar drew his wand on his oblivious opponent. "_Abrumpo," _he murmured his invented curse he had used on the Aurors that day of Appleton's murder.

Bellatrix turned abruptly when she caught sight of Izar sliding on the pool. Before she could melt the water's surface, he threw the _Aburmpo _in her direction. The fire-like worm slithered through the snow, melting it in its wake.

She sneered at it, not likely recognizing the spell. Izar did give her credit for trying to stop the quick moving worm. But his spell ate through the shields, intent to destroy her feet.

Izar stumbled as he came to the other end of the frozen pool. As soon as his feet touched solid ground, he heard Bellatrix scream. Turning, he was disappointed to note that only her toes were cut off from her foot, not the whole anatomy itself. The toe of her boot lay on the crimson stained snow. She gasped in pain, jumping to regain her balance. Her neck snapped as she turned to look at him. Never before had Izar seen eyes so dark… so cruel.

She attacked with a vengeance; spit flying past her sculptured lips.

Izar laughed as he dodged, stopping the blasting hex from blowing up his wand arm. The tree behind him wasn't so lucky. It groaned as it bowed forward into the other trees surrounding it. Snow from the pine tree's branches fell on top of Izar as he stood, but he shook it away as he watched Bellatrix summon the Cruciatus curse. It hit the snow next to his foot as he danced away, throwing the banishing charm at Bellatrix.

She twisted her body around the charm throwing the Cruciatus curse once more. He wasn't as lucky as last time, for it hit him in the center of his belly.

He had never felt the Cruciatus curse before. After hearing the screams from his classmates the day of Appleton's murder, he deduced he didn't _want _to feel such a hex. But it was in vain as he went to the ground, breathing unevenly between screams. He couldn't get enough air in his lungs; his screams were getting in the way. Twisting in the snow, he prayed for it to stop. His mind was in shock as it tried to push away the pain.

Never before had he felt _so much _pain.

His nerves and muscles were on fire and he twitched uncontrollably. Oh Merlin… anything but this.

The only thing keeping him sane was the laughing.

Always the laughing.

They drowned out his screams… making it even more unbearable.

He couldn't imagine being under the Dark Lord's _Crucio_, Izar knew that would be ten times worse than Bellatrix's. But she must have been pretty high up there with the Dark Lord. It was unbearable.

Through heavy tears, he growled out his hex. "_Reducto_." His unsteady hand missed her, but it was successful enough in breaking her concentration. The Cruciatus curse lifted and his body shuddered uncontrollably. This would cost him both his reflexes and his aim. His hand wouldn't remain still as he shakily got to his feet.

Everything spun and Izar finally understood why Theodore Nott had been so unsteady on his feet for a good week after his punishment from the Dark Lord. Bellatrix took immense pleasure in this as she watched him stumble on his own feet. She laughed pleasingly along with the Death Eaters.

The laughs…

She blasted her next hex. His ears were ringing with too much laughter to hear the incantation, but he raised a shield. While his shield did slow it down and strip it of most of its power, it did not get rid of it entirely. His head was thrown to the side as his forehead sliced open. It wasn't too deep, but it was deep enough to bleed profoundly.

Izar sunk to his knees, breathing unevenly through the bitter shock. His mind took him back to his days at the orphanage. The days in which he was nothing but a _freak_. Louis, his Muggle tormentor, had beaten him rather badly that day. And all the children, too afraid to stand up to Louis, had all stood around, laughing at Izar.

It was just like now. The Death Eater's eyes showed the same emotion as his Muggle tormentors had as they laughed.

Blood clouded his vision as he looked at the patio. Their Slytherin smirks and their boastful laughs… Izar caught sight of a pale Draco. The boy was standing silently next to an equally silent Lucius. And then there was Regulus. The man hadn't been there earlier, but he was now. His father didn't look disappointed, only concerned. And Izar _hated _that.

Voldemort stood up, his face impassive, yet his crimson eyes were dangerous. He was going to stop the duel.

But Izar wouldn't be beaten. He couldn't let them win.

The duel was _far _from being over with.

With a roar, Izar stood up, circling his wand around his head in almost a crazy fashion. He could hardly see, the blood seeping into his face was becoming a nuisance. "_Cassesium_," Izar croaked, his voice hoarse but full of passion.

This was his moment to cast his invented spell, the same spell that had taken him weeks upon weeks to construct. It would most likely fail in his delirious and weakened state, but he would try anything. It wouldn't depend on reflexes or aim, only pure magical talent. And that's what he needed at the moment. He couldn't rely on his damaged nerves to help him against Bellatrix, despite the fact that the witch, herself, was suffering from wounds.

The _Cassesium _showered over him before solidifying into a sort of web-like shield. The strands were brittle and looked as if they could be knocked down in seconds. Bellatrix paused, studying the web before snickering. She wasted no time before casting her curse.

"_Reducto,_"

Izar grinned. She fell for his trap.

Her spell struck the spider web shield, turning the web a beautiful ruby color as it absorbed the spell. Bellatrix took a wobbly step backward, trying to balance herself on her one foot. "_Reducto_," she said again, this time, a few of the web-like strands collapsed. She grinned.

And he grinned.

Bellatrix hesitated when she saw his grin. The laughter died down from the patio as they observed.

With a heavy and quick pulse, Izar reached his fingers toward the web barrier. As soon as his fingers touched his beloved web, the ruby magic from Bellatrix's _Reducto _transferred into a small globe onto the pads of his fingers. He held it up to his face, blinking away the blood in his vision. Bellatrix took a step back, her wand raised and ready.

Izar lifted the magic to his mouth and swallowed.

It tasted vile and revolting, but he forced it down his throat. Bellatrix must have had the worst sort magic… it was dark and slimy.

Izar looked down, ignoring the murmurs from the Death Eaters. If it worked right, his skin would turn red.

Raising his fingers, he laughed delightfully as he watched his pale skin turn a brilliant red. He looked up at Bellatrix after wiping the blood from his face as best as he could. It still dripped from the open wound on his forehead.

"Bellatrix…" he sang, grinning. "Come on, my dear cousin. Let's have another _Crucio_, hmm?" He stepped forward, his body breaking the web barrier around him. It clattered noisily to the ground, sounding similar to brittle bones collapsing together. The shell of the web-like barrier was useless now. It served its purpose.

Bellatrix's eyes were narrowed into slits as she observed the crimson magic dancing beneath Izar's skin.

"Why are you hesitating?" Izar continued to step closer to Bellatrix. His wand was clutched loosely in his hand; he had no use for it. As long as Bellatrix's magic was still underneath his skin, he was perfectly protected. She just didn't know that. "I'm right here. You'd better hurry or your toes aren't going to be able to be reattached so easily." He stretched his arms out wide, inviting her to a clear shot.

She snarled, thrashing her wand out in a nonverbal spell. The curse flew at Izar. Instead of harming him, it just bounced off him, rushing into the trees behind him.

"Impossible," she took a step back, falling on her arse as her loss of toes made it impossible to stay balanced.

"Not impossible," Izar whispered. "You're looking at it, no?"

Bellatrix blinked up at him, casting one more spell. It bounced off him. Onyx eyes blinked again before Bellatrix bowed her head. Her shoulders shook and before Izar could comprehend, she was laughing delightfully. Izar sneered.

Through the fall of black curls she eyed him excitingly. "The rumors are true, I suppose," she threw her wand down, a sign of her surrender. The Death Eater's murmurings almost drowned out what Bellatrix spoke next. "You have Cygnus' mind." Izar narrowed his sights on her, his wand to her throat.

He could have seriously wounded her. He _should _have caused her more pain. He wanted to. But it would be below him to curse a witch or wizard who had already surrendered.

"I suppose you've passed my test," Bellatrix sniffed, eyeing him with renewed interest. "You're a true Black, no matter what Mudblood birthed you."

Izar's sneer deepened. "I'm so _honored _to have passed your verdict. It's a true burden from my shoulders." He didn't care what she thought of him. Regulus was the only Black Izar wanted to impress. Although, Izar would readily admit that things would be easier if Bellatrix wasn't constantly down his throat.

Bellatrix flashed a thin smile, her eyes chilling. Her gaze spoke of dark promises, not necessarily horrors for Izar, but a sort of protection and admiration.

Izar dropped his wand at his side as he turned away from her. He slowly walked back to the Malfoy Manor, his emotions hidden behind a wall of stone. His stomach groaned in protest as he pushed his muscles to their limit. He had to get inside his rooms before he showed any sort of weakness.

The Death Eaters made way for him, their gazes coolly appraising him. They were silent for the most part, while some of the Slytherin students congratulated him. He ignored them as he hurried to the backdoor. From his limited vision, he couldn't see Voldemort anywhere. But he did see Regulus. The man followed him at his heels.

"Not now, Regulus," Izar whispered as soon as he entered the Manor.

He could hear the other guests from further inside the Manor.

"I'm going to assist you—," Regulus grabbed hold of Izar's arm, stopping him. Charcoal eyes softened as they caught sight of the exhausted Izar.

"I can't," Izar shook his arm free, taking a step back. No matter how much he wanted to get to know Regulus, to trust him, he wasn't _ready _to show his father such weakness. "I'll be down in a few minutes. Just give me some space, please." He added softly as an after thought. He didn't want to wound his father too badly. But something told Izar it took a lot of effort to harm Regulus.

Regulus nodded sharply, reluctantly staying in place as Izar continued forward.

The Ravenclaw passed the parlors rather quickly. His body was screaming in pain and anguish. His chest and forehead burned where Bellatrix had struck him and the _Crucio _fried his nerves and muscles. He needed a bath. No… he needed to vomit first and then take a quick shower. He wouldn't stay holed up in his room, he needed to be back down near the Death Eaters. If they noticed his prolonged absence they would likely see that as a weakness.

However, Izar wasn't a fool. Despite winning his duel with Bellatrix, it wouldn't change some of the Death Eater's minds. It would quiet them, certainly, but they would still pass judgment of him and they would still despise him for being Muggle raised and the Dark Lord's 'favorite'. And they would still harbor their hate and suspicions for Regulus.

Izar reached the desolate part of the Manor and made his way up the West wing staircase. His face crumbled and he allowed himself to pause. No one was around to see him now. He could finally show his weakness.

He attempted to continue up the steps, but he slipped on his own sweat and blood. Izar landed awkwardly on the stone steps, breathing as he tried to compose himself. He laughed hollowly, the eerie sound echoing across the manor's staircase.

Suddenly, strong arms grabbed him and swung his body up effortlessly. Izar gave a sharp intake of breath as he was positioned ridiculously easy in a bridal-style cradle. His ears flushed when he caught sight of his captor.

And Izar thought things couldn't have gotten any worse...


	24. Part I Chapter 24

***cough* Thank you all for your wonderful reviews.**

**And also a big thanks to Itallia for editing this chapter ;)**

**Chapter Twenty Four**

"I don't _need _help," Izar spat.

"Perhaps you don't need help, no, but you need assistance to get there faster. Surely you wouldn't want to drag your body across the floor on your belly?" Voldemort replied dryly.

"I was walking just fine," Izar argued, hating how easily the man was carrying him. It was if he was weighed nothing in the man's arms. Izar pinned the blame on Voldemort's status as a creature. This was utterly humiliating. He'd rather have Regulus assist him to his rooms than the Dark Lord.

"Is that what you call it?" The Dark Lord's eyebrows heightened. "From my position at the end of the stairs, it looked as if you had collapsed. But if you'd like to label it as 'walking', then so be it." Riddle's expression was nothing short of impassive. The man, despite his sarcasm, looked deathly calm. Izar pondered on that.

His body was stiff and rigid as Riddle carried him down the Malfoy corridors toward his assigned room.

As soon as they entered his rooms, Voldemort made a move to put Izar down on the wide and luxurious bed. "No," Izar whispered faintly. Cold sweat beaded his body the further away they distanced themselves from the bathroom. "The loo… quickly…"

Red eyes observed him before setting him on the bed anyway. Izar hissed, angry at the man for ignoring his hint. Before he could leap off the bed and run to the restroom, hands grabbed his shoulders, forcing him back down. A bucket was thrust in his hands and Izar wasted no time in vomiting.

Only, it wasn't vomit that came out. Bellatrix's magic climbed up his stomach and out his mouth, blasting the bucket from his hands. It was almost like a destructive hairball. He grimaced, staring at the pieces of bucket over the floors. Fire-like waves made the plastic glow red, a sign of the _Reducto _Bellatrix had cast earlier in the duel.

"Don't you feel better now, child?" Voldemort mocked, pulling at Izar's shoulders until the younger wizard sat closer to the edge of the bed.

Izar sighed. "Actually, I feel a lot better without her magic inside me," he admitted. "It was vile."

His skin was back to its normal shade, if not a bit paler than before due to his lightheadedness. The _Cassesium_ he invented was only temporary. As soon as his skin turned back to its normal shade, it simply meant that the spell had worn off and Bellatrix's magic would be effective against him again.

The Dark Lord's cold fingers lifted his chin just slightly. Voldemort then traced his wand over his face and he murmured an old Latin healing charm. The wound on his forehead burned fiercely, sterilizing, before slowly sealing. Izar withheld a moan in distress. If he could handle the Cruciatus Curse, he could handle anything. He always had a high tolerance for pain, but _Crucio _was beyond anything he could ever have imagined. He was still trembling from the after-affects.

"It was exceptionally reckless of you to accept her duel," the Dark Lord began quietly as he healed his forehead wound. "There is that temper of yours again. Odd…" the man trailed off, a hint of ridicule in his tone.

Charcoal-green eyes narrowed at him. "Odd? What's odd?"

Voldemort paused, looking down at Izar. "You are normally calm and collected when someone is rather blunt in their verbal attack against you. Yet, when it comes to someone you _care _for, you seem to harbor a sense of duty in protecting their honor."

Izar scoffed. "Regulus can take care of himself," Izar stated coolly.

"First it was the Greengrass heir after she was poisoned and now it is your father's honor," the Dark Lord continued as if he hadn't heard Izar. "I wonder if I would fit into that heartfelt category of your 'loved ones.'"

Izar snickered.

Voldemort matched Izar's smirk with one of his own.

Izar allowed his head to be tipped back by cold fingers. He stared up at the dark canopy of his bed. "I'll let you know when the time comes to defend you, My Lord. But I hardly think the Death Eaters would disgrace _your _honor. To be honest, they would be scared shitless."

"Eloquent," Voldemort tisked at his use of language.

The man continued to sterilize and try to prevent the scarring around his head. Izar's smirk died down when he realized he had completely forgotten about his suspicions of Voldemort. When Izar was in the man's presence, teasing and bantering, it was always easy to forget that _this _whole relationship may be a scheme on the Dark Lord's behalf.

"Take your robes off." Voldemort stepped back, allowing Izar room.

Izar hesitated before standing up and unclasping his robes. They pooled at his feet, leaving him in a torn shirt and dirty pants. Without waiting for a request to take his shirt off, Izar tore it, throwing it aside.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. "And here I thought I would have to tear them off you by force."

Izar sat down, giving a light shrug. "The way I look at it, we share the same anatomy. I don't think you'd be attracted to a fifteen-year-old anyway," he replied tartly. As if the man was _really _his bloody _mate_… it was just a game.

Voldemort gave a lipless smile and he took an advancing step forward, closing in on Izar. "On the contrary, child, I am _very _attracted to you." The man leaned forward, his nose brushing Izar's cheek. A tongue ventured out to lick the bit of blood on his face and a deep hiss echoed across the room. Izar's breath hitched as the man spoke Parseltongue in his ear; it was seductive and amused. In between hisses, lips would caress and lick off the crimson blood on Izar's face.

Izar flushed, pushing Riddle away forcefully with the palms of his hands.

The man took a steady step backward to regain his balance and his eyes narrowed angrily. "What are you thinking about? You seem unsettled today."

Izar shook his head. "Nothing is wrong. I'm not thinking anything spectacular."

Crimson eyes surveyed him before the man chuckled. "Are you past your denial stage yet?" Izar looked at the man sharply. "First the shock of the situation settles, then you analyze the situation; the next stage is denial and avoidance. You spent a month looking away from me. While I find it humorous, I don't see why you must dwell on your denial of our situation." Voldemort frowned.

"I find it hard to believe," Izar responded tightly. "I think this is all a game to you," he confessed, and immediately wondered why he was being so open.

"I chose to tell you of our connection because you would have had to find out soon anyway; my attraction to you is growing and there is a war starting." Voldemort paused before claiming Izar' jaw with his hand. "If you weren't so damned noticeable, I would have kept you in my third ranking, under wraps. I would have never told you that you were my mate. If I had kept you oblivious, the situation would have been far easier than the current path we are taking. After the war, I would have claimed you. Everything would have been wrapped with a neat little bow," Voldemort added sarcastically.

Izar reluctantly looked at the split-crimson eyes. "Then why did you tell me about it?"

Voldemort was silent for a moment, studying Izar. "I must admit that while I recognize you as my mate, Izar, I am _not_ driven by the intense need to claim you like other magical creatures are with their intendeds. I could go centuries without having you in my bed and I would never be affected by your absence." Voldemort cocked his head to the side. "So why did I tell you about it? Simply because you are _noticeable_ and I can't help but feel possessive of your attention."

Izar grimaced. "I'm not that noticeable. If you hadn't thrown me in the Triwizard Tournament and if you hadn't paid any attention to me in the first place, I would still be nonexistent."

"I disagree," Voldemort tisked, pushing at Izar until he laid down on the bed. "You don't give yourself any credit, child."

Izar decided not to continue arguing. "I've already healed the wound on my chest," Izar spoke coolly.

"And you did an absolutely terrible job at it," the Dark Lord mused.

"You're licking my wounds," Izar accused, unsure of how he felt about the Dark Lord's coddling after his duel. He hated it, most certainly, but he wondered at the man's motives. If Voldemort really was using Izar to get back at Regulus for his past betrayal, why would he go through the trouble of cleaning Izar up after a bloody battle? Unless… Izar sighed. He needed to _stop _analyzing every move Voldemort made. "What would the Death Eaters say if they knew I was being pampered by the Dark Lord?"

"When you mention licking your wounds, do you mean figuratively or literally?" Crimson eyes gleamed as he eyed the blood across Izar's chest. "Nonetheless, I'm sure neither option would sit very well with my followers."

The Ravenclaw shook his head, unable to configure a retort to that. The man had to be something similar to a vampire. This was the second incident that proved the man had a liking for blood, or at least Izar's blood.

He laid there, biting his tongue as Voldemort sterilized his wound. Did he believe the Dark Lord now? It was too difficult to comprehend. And Izar wasn't sure if he could fully trust Tom Riddle, not if they were always dancing around each other like this.

"There is an issue I need to bring up with you," Voldemort murmured. "I'd like for you to graduate early." It wasn't a request; it was a sugar-coated order.

Charcoal-green eyes averted from the canopy to the Dark Lord's face. "Graduate early? I've already skipped a grade level this year. Surely _that _is what you mean by graduating early."

Voldemort sealed the wound across his chest before stepping back. He eyed his handiwork before turning his observation on Izar. "I've taken the liberty of observing your results this school year. Even with the Tournament and all the personal issues you've been dealing with, your test results and homework have returned to me flawless." Izar held his tongue. How _did _the Dark Lord receive such authority to view his school grades? "I want you to take your NEWTs this year and graduate at the end of June."

Izar blinked, breathing heavily. "That's a bit much to ask, don't you think, My Lord?"

Voldemort raised a fine eyebrow. "You don't put any extra time into your classes _outside _the classroom and yet you pass them without effort. It is unheard of to have such an occurrence. Not only do you pass your classes, you _invent _spells that are far beyond any average adult. You will be taking your NEWTs." The Dark Lord's lips twisted.

"No one's ever done that before. You'd have to appeal it in court—,"

"Of course it's been done before, silly child. Just not by a fifteen-year-old. And as Undersecretary I have every right to appeal that order. There will be criticism, yes, but I believe you can easily pass your exams. You did so with the OWLs at the young age of fourteen."

Izar sat up slowly, his attention on the bed covers. "Why? Why do you want me to graduate this year?" His stomach twisted as he began thinking. "This… this creature you are…" Vivid eyes danced up to Voldemort's face. "You're going to turn me, aren't you?"

The Dark Lord's lips thinned as they curled into a dark smile.

Izar stood up abruptly. "Don't I get any say in this? I don't want to be bloody fifteen for eternity!"

Voldemort looked down his nose disapprovingly at Izar. The Ravenclaw immediately felt flustered for yelling at the Dark Lord. "Must you be so dramatic?" The Dark Lord turned his shoulder to Izar, studying the wide window to the room. "The war is brewing. I will not have a mortal mate on the battle field. But who said I want you to graduate so I can turn you? Hmm? While you may show atypical intelligence, you do not know all my motives."

Izar calmed, but he remained suspicious. "You can say that again," Izar hissed darkly. "You hide everything behind that bloody smirk of yours." He studied the turned back. "What do you wish of me, then?" Crimson eyes looked at Izar over his shoulder in a silent demand to expand his question. "Why do you want me to graduate early?"

"A number of reasons," the man continued calmly, "one being that you hold high power as the Black heir. You will be in politics this coming year, Izar, both as my political heir and your father's heir. But that is neither here nor there. We will discuss this more in depth when the situation arrives. In the meantime, I have already submitted the petition for your early graduation."

Breathing calmly through his nose, Izar clenched his jaw in order to stop himself from giving the man a scathing retort. It was unhealthy how fast Izar's respect for the man could drop and then rise again. But he supposed _any _sort of relationship with Tom Riddle wouldn't be very healthy.

"Look at you," Riddle all but purred. "That stubborn tick in your jaw is oddly endearing." Voldemort finally turned away from the window and approached Izar. His eyes raked the smaller wizard's petite frame with glee. "But I do wonder why you're silent. Your silence is almost unheard of with that sharp tongue of yours."

Izar glowered. "I would be on the other end of your wand if I dared to utter what I'm truly thinking. You wouldn't be impressed," Izar promised confidently.

The man continued to approach Izar, similar to a hunting predator. Izar stiffened, not in the least bit amused at the man's actions.

"I must truthfully admit that you were remarkable today during the duel," Voldemort spoke quietly, barely above a purring whisper. "Even more ingenious was that last spell. I expect you to show it to me."

"Is that a question or an order?" Izar quipped, but he had lost his bite as the towering man came to a stop mere inches from him.

He tried to keep his eyes on the chest in front of him, but found his curiosity getting the better of him. His skin prickled at Voldemort's proximity and his stomach twisted both pleasantly and unpleasantly. How could he be both frightened and thrilled at the man's closeness? He was too conflicted and he hated himself for being so affected.

Clenching his jaw again, he looked up at Voldemort through narrowed eyes.

The man met his stare, an amused smirk twisting his lips. "Whichever you'd like to think of it as." Voldemort's pale fingers inched out from his robe in order to cup Izar's clenched jaw. The Dark Lord bent his neck closer to an impassive Izar. "Would you find it insulting if I thought you were more arousing than impressive during the duel?"

"Very insulting," Izar murmured. His voice was far too quiet for his liking.

Riddle lifted his lip, revealing brilliant white teeth. He kept his contact with Izar, not at all ashamed of his intimacy. The man then leaned closer, his nose bumping Izar's before brushing near his cheek.

Izar's lashes fluttered and he struggled to keep his breathing even as his pulse raced. He should have stepped away and ignored the man's overwhelming arrogance and presence. But he found himself stubbornly standing in place. Izar lifted his chin. His eyes were so close to Riddle's; it was intoxicating. "Are you going to bloody kiss me?" Izar whispered hoarsely. "Or do you enjoy having my breath on your face?"

Voldemort chuckled, pleased. "Oh no, child, I am going to allow you to take the first step." Split-crimson eyes mocked Izar. They both knew Izar would never make the first move. It was too new for him, too bold and out of character.

And that's exactly why Izar did it.

He reached up and placed his palms on Voldemort's cheeks before pulling the man's head down. Izar closed the distance, clumsily crashing their lips together. His body leaned awkwardly into Voldemort's thin frame as he stood on his toes to get better access. It wasn't a pretty scene, but it was also his first kiss. He wanted to know if kissing the Dark Lord was as intriguing as he thought it would be.

Sadly, it was better.

Izar pushed himself into Voldemort, wanting it all. He felt the man's magic touch him and Izar all but shuddered at the feel of harboring such power. He had never imagined being so close to another male like this, especially a male as powerful and dangerous as the Dark Lord.

Voldemort made an engaged sound in his throat. But before Voldemort could react with his own dominance, Izar took a step back, releasing the man's face quickly. He turned his back on the Dark Lord, a grin on his face even as he struggled to clear his expression. To stop his hands from shaking, Izar walked to his trunk to dig out a new shirt.

"Don't expect that _ever _again," Izar whispered coolly. "I was just curious…"

Buttoning his shirt, he slammed his trunk closed, catching sight of Voldemort. The man had an impassive expression on his face but his crimson eyes were oddly bright. "Careful, Izar," the Dark Lord whispered darkly. "I told you, you would be the one to take the first step. You have just initiated our game. It's my turn to move freely."

Izar felt a cold wash down the length of his spine at the man's promise. Izar was a fool. He should have never given into his hormonal desires, his curiosity, and his weakness. He had wanted to prove the Dark Lord wrong, that Izar _was _dominant and sure enough to kiss him. Little did he know that the Dark Lord had _wanted _and expected Izar to prove him wrong. Riddle wanted Izar to make the first move, to break the boundaries.

"You're a bloody bastard," Izar whispered spitefully.

"I beg your pardon?" Riddle questioned, his brows furrowing sardonically as he cocked his head. "I didn't quite catch that."

He had.

Izar glared.

Before he could retort, a knock sounded at his door. "Izar?" Regulus' voice came from the other side. "Is everything alright?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. The man swept conceitedly toward the opposite door, knowing he had won the little match between himself and Izar.

Izar, still kneeling near his trunk, slapped his palm on the floor, catching Voldemort's attention before the man left. "Don't think for one moment that this… this…_thing_," he motioned between himself and the Dark Lord with disgust, "averted my attention from our original topic. I still don't agree I need to graduate early. And I will continue to make you see that I need an extra year of schooling."

He didn't want to study for NEWTs on top of everything else this year. Izar also didn't want to face immortality yet. Even if Voldemort claimed he wasn't graduating Izar early in order to 'kill' him forever, Izar was still suspicious. He would do everything he could to hold off being immortal. He didn't even know what creature Riddle was, but he was leaning heavily toward a distant relative to the vampire.

"I hope you make it downstairs," Riddle started, completely ignoring Izar's remark. "Your presence is what makes me sane, I'm afraid. You give me some entertainment in this monotonous setting." The man then left the room as soon as the door to his main entrance opened.

Izar turned, staring at Regulus innocently.

His father eyed Izar suspiciously before looking at the door Voldemort had just escaped from. "Did you not hear me?" Regulus asked coldly. With deadly poise, he stepped inside Izar's rooms without invitation. "Or were you…preoccupied?" Cold charcoal eyes were still on the opposite door.

"Both," Izar murmured, motioning to the bathroom. "I was cleaning up."

Regulus gave an 'ah' sound, not looking the least bit bought by the story. His leather boots groaned as he slowly approached Izar's sitting form. The man's charcoal eyes were vivid today as they stared at Izar through thick lashes. Izar liked Regulus' groomed appearance far better than his unruly and roguish facade. The man still had a goatee, but it was considerably shorter than earlier in the year.

"Forgive me," Regulus started as he sat down gracefully on Izar's aged and worn chest. "I have been neglecting my duties as a father as of late."

Izar stayed sitting on the ground, not feeling obliged to stand before his father. He was comfortable enough at his father's feet. "What do you mean?" Izar asked softly. "You've been clearing out the Black Manors and opening them back up. You've been busy."

Regulus' eyes glinted with warmth. It wasn't a look Izar had seen on his father. It was a rarity. "You are far too lenient with me." Regulus leaned forward, pinching Izar's shirt between his fingers. "You need new clothes, new necessities…"

"I've gotten by fine without them," Izar defended.

"You have," Regulus conceded as he pulled his hand away from Izar's shirt. He remained sitting forward, clasping his hands over his knees. "Sometimes I believe it is better you have grown up without the influence of the Black riches. Understand that I never wanted your childhood to be the way it was, Izar, yet you've grown to be an independent and self-sufficient wizard. If you had been raised by me, I fear I would have spoiled you. You certainly wouldn't be half the young man you are today."

Izar offered a small smile. "In short, you mean you're happy I didn't turn out like Draco?"

Regulus chuckled lightly. "That's exactly what I'm saying. While Draco is growing more mature, he has a long way to go before he's anywhere near worthy of the Malfoy Head title."

Izar looked down at his shirt, not really studying the frayed ends and worn dye. Instead, he was thinking of Bellatrix's harsh words concerning his father. Perhaps he had overacted and allowed his temper to get the better of him, but he didn't regret his decision to duel with her. "I suppose you've seen the article that came out today in the _Daily Prophet_?" Izar asked, avoiding Regulus' piercing gaze.

"I have, and I don't want you to be worried." Regulus' voice turned chilly. "It was to be expected that Lily would do something such as that."

"She disgraced you," Izar hissed darkly, his jaw clenched. "She sullied both you and the Black family."

Regulus tisked, reaching out the clasp Izar's jaw. "That was her intention, my son. She wanted the public to sympathize with her in order to set the stage." Regulus quickly continued before Izar could ask _what _Lily was setting the stage for. "Lucius told me what transpired in my absence. With you and Bellatrix." Regulus leaned forward, closer to Izar. "I am very privileged to have a son that protects my honor. And you were absolutely wonderful during the duel. You're a remarkable wizard. But I never want to hear again that you put yourself in harm's way just for me. Do you understand me?"

Izar scoffed, pulling his face from Regulus' hands. "She's a right bitch," he hissed disgustedly.

"That she is," Regulus agreed full heartedly. "But what you must understand with Bellatrix is that she knows which buttons to push. And while it is hard to believe, she is also very protective of and loyal to her family. She wanted to test you today. She wanted you to prove yourself to her, to prove that you should be under her protection. And you have, most certainly, proved yourself worthy."

Izar found it hard to believe that Bellatrix could actually _feel _a sense of loyalty and kinship to someone other than the Dark Lord. But Regulus' words made sense. If anyone knew Bellatrix, it was Regulus, the same man who had grown up with her.

However, Izar knew Bellatrix would never cease to tease and ridicule him.

"Getting back to the situation with Lily," Izar started, noticing that his father stiffened. "What is she setting the stage for? There was a reason behind this public attack on you. What?"

Regulus rubbed his face with his hands. Izar's eyes zeroed in on the rings on the man's fingers. He didn't understand why he was always so interested in family rings. Perhaps it was the irony of it. Izar had his own ring, yet it represented ownership and a sense of possession while the family rings always represented pride, honor, and status.

"She's looking to regain custody of you," Regulus admitted softly.

Izar frowned. "And how the hell is she going to go about that? She _can't _do that. She's never approached me with familiarity…"

Regulus held up a hand, silencing Izar. "The Dark Lord is well aware of her movements. And as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, he has a large sway over the Wizengamot and the courts. And in turn, he has sway over Fudge. Fudge is little more than his puppet. Lily won't find a very clear path to gaining custody of you."

"But Dumbledore knows of Voldemort. Don't you think he'll find a way to keep Voldemort out of the matter? In any matter, isn't the Department of Magical Family Services in charge of custody disputes? What power does he have _there_?"

"Of course he has power there. He has power everywhere." Regulus gave a light sigh. "Now isn't the time to think about this, Izar. Lily has yet to legally file for custody. Until that time, keep an eye out for her and Dumbledore. I don't want you alone with them."

Why did it always seem as if Regulus wanted to hide things from Izar? It was as if the man wanted to take burdens from him and bear them all himself. It was both frustrating and oddly endearing.

"Does James Potter know about all this? And I'm guessing Dumbledore does as well? You told me he wasn't aware of Lily's pregnancy."

"They both know now. James was suspicious of Lily fifteen years ago." Regulus chuckled lightly. "It's one of the reasons Sirius distanced himself from him. _But_. That is not my tale to tell. James is aware of your existence. And I'm certain he's not very happy about it. But he has always wanted an heir." Regulus' voice turned sour. "Lily has never given him a son or a daughter. Potter would probably take you as an alternative. You are the nephew of Sirius, one of his oldest and best friends."

"He can take his Potter heirlooms and shove them up his arse," Izar replied scathingly.

Regulus' lips twitched. "I don't foresee you living with Lily, Izar. She may be manipulative and rather clever, but you are currently a ward of the Ministry. In particular, the Dark Lord sees that as his right to your guardianship. He'll fight incredibly dirty as long as you stay away from Dumbledore and Lily's hands."

Izar grimaced at the thought of living with the Potters. Surely it would never happen. Like Regulus said, Voldemort would take this case personally. And the Dark Lord would fight with anything but fairness to get what he wanted.

"I suppose we should venture down." Regulus stood, extending his hand toward his son. "As much as I'd like to be anywhere but Lucius' glam party, we must keep up appearances."

Izar felt the same. He accepted Regulus' hand and was pulled into a standing position. The man frowned, looking over Izar's clothing. "I have a set of robes in my room. They should flatter you better than your _Muggle _clothing. A simple shrinking charm will have to do for now before you get tailored robes." Regulus eyed the amused smirk crossing Izar's lips. "You are my son. You will _look _like the respected pure-blood you are."

"Half-blood," Izar corrected.

Regulus pursed his lips. "More pure than anything. Come."

Izar was oddly curious to see how his father acted among the Death Eaters' obvious suspicion and disgust. Surely Regulus could dance skillfully. And despite the cruel and dark streak Izar could see in Regulus, there was also patience. Something told Izar that Regulus could handle himself just fine among the Death Eaters.

* * *

**{Notes} **There are a lot of questions on- _how many more chapters?_ I have no idea; it's really hard to say. **:( **Originally, I was going to write out his whole seventh year, but I need to end the story *sometime*. When I get closer to the end, I'll let you all know. As far as the slash goes, it is starting as of this chapter. However, there will be no *sex* until Izar is sixteen.

Another concern I'm getting is Voldemort's appearance. I never said Voldemort was ugly or unattractive. I just pointed out he wasn't very 'beautiful'. I can't picture the Dark Lord being beautiful like Izar. Most of the Death Eaters think Voldemort is 'handsome' because of his power and pure charisma. Izar, while noting the man's average appearance, still sees a sort of uniqueness about him that draws him in. You could say Voldemort is 'refined' and lethal-looking, an individual that makes your stomach clench and goose bumps rise. (But not in an unpleasant/disgusted way) If that makes sense? Sorry for the long description, just had to make myself clear.

Thanks for reading!


	25. Part I Chapter 25

**{Notes} **Thanks for your reviews last chapter. And thanks to _Itallia _for editing this chapter ;)

**Also. A new WARNGING is going to be issued. **Generally, it's just _mentions_ of incest. There will be no acts of incest between father and son, _no_, but mentions of the incest inside the Black family and other pure-blood families will arise. There are also incestuous acts in this chapter between two characters who are 'related' but not closely. It shouldn't be too much of a squeamish issue. I've already mentioned the incest in the Black family in earlier chapters. I just think I should put a warning out there along with it.

**Chapter Twenty Five**

Luckily, the Death Eaters were no longer sitting at tables to show their ranks. Instead, they were spread about the backyard, in the gardens, near the buffet table, and just mingling. Izar found favor in lingering near the buffet table as he filled his plate. He hadn't eaten at all today. And while it was normal for him to go a day, maybe two days, without food, the duel with Bellatrix left him a bit faint and in need of protein and nutrients.

After escaping the buffet line, Izar was grateful to get a table to himself. The openness of the patio permitted the chilly breeze to cool his hot face. Despite his flushed body, he found goose bumps forming on his arms and the back of his neck. He frowned. Perhaps he was getting sick…

Regulus sat down gracefully next to him, his own plate of food set perfectly in order. "Pickled pig's feet," Regulus motioned to the odd looking substance on his plate. "I was also inclined to taste the peacock and roasted armadillo. The Malfoys always seem to roast the peacock to perfection." Charcoal eyes looked distantly at the Malfoy gardens. "Perhaps they cook it so flawlessly because of the overabundant albino peacocks they prefer to keep around the grounds…"

Izar had trouble swallowing. "I can handle the pickled pig's feet and even the peacock, but what the bloody hell are you eating armadillo for?" Charcoal-green eyes surveyed the grey substance that looked a bit rough. "Are we talking about the little grey creatures that curl into a ball when frightened?"

Regulus stabbed the small grey ball with his fork, winking at Izar before placing it in his mouth. There was an audible 'crack' as the man broke the surface of the shell before continuing to chew.

Izar kept his appalled eyes on Regulus, veiling his disgust rather well for the circumstances. He watched as Regulus pulled out the empty shell from his mouth and placed the hollow contents on his plate.

"The very same creature, Izar," Regulus commented before eyeing the next armadillo on his plate. "Many pure-blood families enjoy rich and foreign foods. Armadillo's shells _can _be eaten because of the softening spells the cooks cast on it, but I don't particularly care for the outer case." Regulus' well manicured fingers picked up the armadillo and offered it to Izar's motionless form. "Care to try a bit of your family's traditional cuisine?"

"Hmm," Izar gave a light grunt. "It looks absolutely _delicious_." He paused, eyeing the rigid grey shell. "However, I think I'll have to pass. I don't enjoy meat of any kind."

"A vegetarian?" Regulus questioned, intrigued.

"Hardly," Izar spoke lightly. He _wasn't _a vegetarian because he had eaten meat on occasion, but he didn't favor it in the least.

Regulus chuckled, cracking open the shell. The sound grated on Izar's nerves.

Izar glanced away, not inclined to watch as Regulus dug out the pink flesh inside the shell. His eyes danced across the patio and caught Voldemort's gaze. Earlier, the man had all but ordered Izar to seek him out as soon as he left his bedroom with Regulus. Nevertheless, Izar wasn't prone to appease the man right now. Blame it on his irritation with the man's overwhelming arrogance. It was bloody irritating dancing with someone so skilled in the art. He felt as if he were treading in dangerous waters all the time. No hope at success.

Izar scowled in the man's direction as Voldemort inclined his head. The man wanted him to _come_.

He then noticed Voldemort's crimson eyes. He thought the kiss would sate the man but judging from the penetrating gaze he was receiving, Izar only realized it excited and intrigued the man a tenfold.

Bringing up a dinner roll to his mouth, Izar tore at the fluffy bread before turning away from the man's clear order. Riddle was surrounded by his 'posse' anyway. Izar was too hungry to properly play.

Regulus sighed next to him. "Sometimes I wonder how the Dark Lord puts up with you," the man reported dryly. "With you, he finds your actions humorous, but if it were anyone else, they would be under his wand within seconds."

Izar eyed Voldemort from the corner of his eyes. "He has a sick sense of humor," he responded stiffly, playing with the short-noodle pasta.

He was torn about what he felt for Voldemort at the moment. He didn't want to succumb to the man, yet he was starting to see truth behind the man's confession that they _were _mates. But right now, Izar's biggest concern was immortality. He didn't know what creature Voldemort was. Perhaps it was a creature Izar had never heard of before, but at least he had confirmed his suspicions that the man could pass his "gift" of immortality to Izar.

Izar never thought of immortality. He never believed it to be appealing. Death was somewhat intriguing to him. It was a mystery that every human feared and every human had to face. He supposed, though, that harnessing that fear would be empowering. It would be fascinating to snub death, the most powerful force in the world. Voldemort had outwitted death. And he _reeked _of pure power because of it.

Izar certainly didn't have any qualms about being immortal. However, it was the man's intentions that put Izar on guard. He didn't want to be fifteen forever if Voldemort _was, _indeed, thinking about turning him soon.

When Izar had first met Regulus, the man had informed him that he was also short and small at Izar's age. His father hit his growing spurt at the age of eighteen. Izar _needed _to age, he needed to hit his spurt before he became immortal.

Could he avoid Voldemort's advances? Could he try to ward off the man's intentions of immortality? Could he convince him otherwise?

It was possible.

He just needed to dance _very _carefully. Just thinking about the effort to dodge Voldemort made Izar's headache grow in intensity.

"Those armadillos," Izar began hesitantly. "Do they help growth?"

The charcoal eyes of Regulus blinked, before the man gave a pleased laugh. "I'm afraid not," Regulus responded, delighted at Izar's attempt at gaining more height. "You are just a late bloomer, Izar." Even the man sounded uncertain.

"I have _her _genes," Izar replied in disgust. Lily was awfully short. Izar was even taller than her.

"That isn't necessarily true," Regulus replied calmly, almost lightly as he cracked open another shell. "I told you I didn't hit a growth spurt into my late teens, early twenties. It will come." The man flashed Izar a grin. "Why are you suddenly so interested in your height? Any lucky lady I need to hear about?"

Even if he said it jokingly, there were shadows in his eyes. Izar noticed the man's attention drop to Izar's left hand where Voldemort's ring sat underneath his fingerless glove. "No, no girl," Izar responded, a bit of disgust lacing his tone.

"You cover it up," Regulus motioned toward Izar's fingerless leather glove. "Yet the Dark Lord bares it for the world to see."

Izar casually turned to where most of the Death Eaters were gathered. Voldemort was speaking to Avery Senior, his expression that of pure boredom. And just as Regulus claimed, his left hand bore the Celtic band. Turning away from it, Izar breathed to settle himself. No doubt the Dark Lord was doing it to taunt Izar. No Death Eater or politician would be so bold as to ask the intimidating man who owned the other ring.

"It's not what you think it is," Izar murmured as he picked at the pasta.

Regulus hissed beneath his breath before leaning forward and placing his lips near Izar's ear. "Your virginity? He seemed oddly delighted when he thrust it in my face that day I asked for forgiveness." It sounded as if this issue with the Celtic band had been weighing heavily on Regulus.

Izar felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at his father's dark tone. The Ravenclaw was oddly thrilled at hearing such a dark tenor from his father. "We want to keep it covered right now, but it's a mentor and heir ring." Charcoal-green eyes matched his father's stare. "By no means is it a virginity ring. He knows how much I despise politics, hence the reason he forced me into the bond by bargaining with your life."

Regulus leaned back, appearing thankful, yet there was still a bit of suspicion and abhorrence in his eyes. "While I'm not too thrilled about you becoming his political heir, I _was_ worried… that he was playing so ruthlessly with your head, Izar, that he was taking your innocence so callously."

Izar felt a small pang of guilt for lying to his father, but he dismissed it easily. Instead, he continued eating in silence. Regulus remained silent next to him, understanding from Izar's reluctance to talk about the issue that he shouldn't pry anymore. Not now, anyway. The man never forgot about things easily. Izar was sure Regulus still remembered the book Izar had read about the Horcruxes.

"Does it bother you?" Izar turned to look at Regulus, changing the subject entirely. "How they all look at you and talk about you behind your back?"

Regulus looked up at the Death Eaters who were none too sly in their conversation about Regulus. When the two Blacks had ventured back outside, the gossip had heightened and furtive stares were thrown in their direction. Izar had easily shrugged it off, but he wanted to know if his father felt the same.

"Does it bother you?" Regulus countered.

"No," Izar replied truthfully. "I'm above them. I'm not affected. But I want to know what _you _are feeling."

A small smile crossed Regulus' face. "Truthfully, I'm just honored to be given a second chance with you and the Dark Lord. I couldn't care less what these wizards and witches think. I'd say they're just envious and feel threatened with both our presences."

Izar shared a smile with Regulus. It may have bothered Regulus, but the man was doing a rather good job of not letting it show. Regulus sat proudly, confidently, almost conceitedly, in his chair. His robes were crisp and nicely tailored and his appearance was just as clean-cut. He was the swan in the middle of a pack of hyenas, looking equally graceful as he was smart. Nothing could touch him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the life of the party is _here_," Bellatrix screeched, laughing in glee as she looked toward the door to the patio. Before Izar turned, he eyed her feet. She had successfully reattached her severed toes to her foot.

Pity.

Izar turned to what had caught Bellatrix's attention. He caught sight of an irritated Severus Snape. The man, dressed in his usual heavy robes, swept further into the party. He looked as if he would rather choose Dumbledore's office over the party he was currently at. The Death Eaters watched the man sweep past, their eyes on the deepening scowl of Snape.

Izar couldn't help but grin. He held a bit of a soft spot for his Professor.

Snape's onyx eyes caught his. The scowl deepened as if the man blamed Izar for his current predicament. After all, Izar had all but _forced _the man to come to the party by commenting lightly that Regulus wanted the man to be there.

"He looks rather irate," Regulus commented, his own grin mirroring his son's. "What did you do to him, Izar?"

Izar blinked innocently. "I just suggested his presence would be welcome." He couldn't believe Snape was here. The Potions Professor was willingly at a party? The thought and mere imagery was absurd. But he was looking at the solid proof. Even the Slytherin students looked taken aback by their professor's attendance. Surely they hadn't expected their Head of House to show up at the Malfoy's holiday gathering.

All because Izar mentioned Regulus would enjoy it if he came.

How… repulsively romantic. It was rather appalling.

"You insolent little child," Snape snarled as he eyed the smirk on Izar's mouth.

The man curled his hands on the back of Izar's chair, leaning forward and placing his lips near Izar's ear. Izar wondered what the man would think if he informed him that Regulus had just placed his lips on the very same ear… he decided not to press his luck but he kept it in the back of his mind for his own amusement.

"For reasons I cannot begin to comprehend, I made it my obligation to protect your ungrateful hide as you manipulate the Dark Mark. The sooner you finish your ridiculous plans, the faster I can leave. So wipe that audacious smirk off your face." Snape straightened up, casting Regulus a sneer before turning on his heel and wading through the crowd.

Regulus' lips thinned as he watched Severus hastily grab a drink of what appeared to be brandy and stalk to a corner by himself. Regulus then turned to Izar with his eyebrows raised, a question clearly in mind.

Izar unperturbedly eyed his eaten pasta. "He's a bit of a drama queen…"

Regulus chuckled, but Izar's mind was distant. For just a few hours, he had forgotten about the Mark. Voldemort's presence tended to do that to him. He grew distracted, far too distracted for his liking. But his determination was still at its highest. He would complete the Dark Mark tonight. Or, at least _attempt_ to complete it.

A throat cleared itself next to Izar and Regulus. Father and son turned to the tall and slightly stocky man. The man had short golden blonde hair and his body was pure muscle. His eyes were a mossy green and Izar had an inkling he knew who this was.

"Regulus," the man nodded sharply before turning his gaze on Izar. "Izar, it's nice to meet you. My daughter hasn't stopped speaking of you."

"Mr. Greengrass," Izar realized as he reached forward to shake the hefty hand. It was warm, far warmer than his cold and small hand.

"Please call me Charles," the man corrected as he dropped Izar's hand.

Next to him, Regulus raised his eyebrows at Izar, a lazy smirk across his face. "Please, sit down," Regulus invited smugly as if he knew something Izar didn't.

Nonetheless, Izar played it cool as the tall giant settled in the seat next to him. Daphne looked just like her father, but she must have inherited her mother's stature and soft features. Everything else was Charles'.

"How is Daphne doing?" Regulus continued. "I heard about the terrible incident during the Yule Ball."

Izar raised an eyebrow. Regulus hadn't mentioned anything about his knowledge in the attacks. But then again, father and son hadn't been able to speak to one another that often. Today was the first time they could speak to one another without the pressure of a time limit. Only, they kept getting interrupted. Izar wanted to know what Regulus thought of the attacks and his opinion on who had put Izar's name in the Goblet.

It couldn't be Voldemort. Or, at least Izar didn't think the man was behind the attacks, simply because he was fretting over immortality. That obviously meant he _believed _Voldemort when the man said he was his mate.

Things were _too_ frustrating to think about. He barely refrained from pulling at his hair.

"She's doing well." Charles Greengrass nodded his chin toward Izar. "If Izar hadn't gotten to her in time, her brain may have permanently shut down."

Regulus nodded solemnly. Charcoal eyes met Izar's before turning back to Charles.

"She won't be able to make it to the manor for the festivities. She was looking forward to spending time with you away from school." Greengrass continued darkly.

Izar cleared his throat, no longer hungry. He knew Daphne would have enjoyed being here. He couldn't feel guilty. And he didn't. He was just imagining her disappointment at not being able to be present. Her small shoulders were likely to be thrown back and her nose would be pointed upward as she walked amongst the groups. It was always amusing to watch her be so sociable and convivial.

"Izar," Regulus started lightly, "it looks as if Draco could use your attention."

Charcoal-green eyes skipped across the patio until he spotted the pale-haired Slytherin boy. Draco was standing amongst the other students, their expressions cool indifference as they spoke amongst each other. They were the typical offspring of pure-blood wizards and witches. While they were children they tried to pass off as young adults capable of keeping up with the adults around them. Sadly, it never worked in their favor, simply because their masks tended to slip at the most critical time.

Draco stood in the center of their conversation, yet his attention was drifting toward Izar every once in a while. When the Malfoy heir noticed Izar's scrutiny, the blond straightened up, jutting his jaw out in invitation.

Izar gave a brief scowl as he turned to look suspiciously at Regulus. The man was all but forcing him away.

"Alright," Izar cocked an eyebrow toward his father before nodding tightly to Charles. "It was nice meeting you, sir. Wish Daphne well for me." He ignored calling the man by his first name. He wasn't familiar enough with him to address him as a long-time companion.

Before Charles could respond, Izar turned on his heel and made his way toward the Hogwarts students. He was reluctant to do so. Snape's empty table was inviting enough, but Izar wouldn't make a fool of himself. He didn't want the students to think he was afraid of them. Because he wasn't. He just grew tired of their supercilious behavior.

Draco's lip lifted and he placed his eagerness behind a solid façade of calm hospitality. Izar thought he looked startlingly like his father then. Draco inherited very few Black characteristics from his mother and took after his father in the sharp, almost pointy features. But Draco had lost most of his childish features and he was slowly turning into a man.

"Izar," Draco greeted coolly.

Izar nodded back as he approached their group. He blinked when he realized he could sense most of their magic and see their auras. Izar had never been able to see auras on wizards unless they were incredibly strong and he could only _sense _magic from wizards if they had a decent amount of power. Voldemort's and Dumbledore's auras were visible to Izar and he could also sense the auras of Regulus, Snape, Sirius, and a good amount of others. But the students' magic had never been remotely noticeable.

What changed it?

He paused and casually looked over his shoulder. Was this why he had a headache? He had turned a blind eye on it earlier, he supposed, but he _could _see all of the wizards' auras. The magic was nothing but a colored cloud of particles, some auras more beautiful than the next, but nonetheless, he could see _everyone's_.

He licked his bottom lip before continuing to the table. Perhaps his magic-sensitivity was heightening the older he became. He wasn't complaining about this new development. It was always a pleasure to see magic, magic was beautiful. And now that he identified the cause of his headache and fever, Izar knew his illness would likely diminish the longer he grew used to the sudden sensitivity in the objects and wizards around him.

"Nice robes," a Slytherin commented darkly. The boy's eyes surveyed the black robes Regulus had shrunk for him. And in particular, the boy was examining the Black family crest on his chest as if he thought it was a fake.

Izar didn't spare him a glance as he casually leaned against the table next to Draco. He scrutinized the hushed group of students with hidden curiosity. It took all his restraint not to go cross-eyed as he stared at their magic.

_So beautiful…_ These children didn't deserve such a precious gift.

"Excellent duel today, Izar," Nott took the first step forward. He stuck out his hand, a light smirk crossing his lips. "I can speak for everyone when I say you were bloody brilliant."

Izar took Nott's hand and shook it, staring into the boy's blue eyes. Despite the unfortunate circumstances revolving around Appleton's clumsy murder, Nott had taken a liking to Izar. With his father's death in Azkaban, Nott had grown up considerably. It was if he realized he needed to represent his dead father through his actions. His growing maturity rivaled that of Draco's development.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Izar replied lazily as he dropped Nott's hand.

"When we get to see the all powerful Lestrange bloodied and submissive, it's more than just simple enjoyment, Nott," a student next to Nott spoke up. Izar didn't know her name. She looked like a seventh year Slytherin and Izar distinctively remembered her surname being half-blood. She smiled at him, her chapped lips twisting sickly sweet. She didn't hold a flame to Daphne's natural poise.

A few heads nodded in composed agreement. They didn't all agree. And Izar would be a little put-off if they had suddenly dropped their beliefs so quickly due to a successful duel. And while most of them may seem awed by his duel, Izar knew there was still jealousy lingering in their judgments.

"I call it luck," a boy, Wellington, began spitefully. "It was that last spell that tipped Bellatrix's rightful win." The tall boy stood at his full height in front of Izar and ran his eyes down the Ravenclaw's body. Beside Izar, Draco stiffened. "What was that spell you used?"

Izar withheld a snort and instead tossed a smirk at the boy. "I could tell you what the spell was… but I'd rather not," Izar drawled.

Before Wellington could retort, Draco grabbed Izar's arm and pulled him away. "You don't need to humor them," Draco hissed lightly. The blond Malfoy led Izar away from the prying students and toward the gardens. The hand on Izar's arm was extremely possessive.

"I have to interact with them sometime, Draco," Izar replied stiffly. He pulled his arm from Draco, stopping to assess the boy suspiciously.

Draco tried his best to appear stoic and unaffected, but Izar could see the magic around Draco. It was distressed. The flow of the magic wasn't at all calm and tranquil. There was a tight tension around Draco's mouth as he leaned closer to Izar. The latter remained upright, well aware of the eyes on them from the patio. It was best not to make a scene. "How can you just stand there and act as if it is nothing?" Draco demanded quietly.

Raising an eyebrow, Izar's lips twitched in amusement. "I assure you, I am quite used to their stares and comments—"

"Not that," Draco sighed, irritated. "I'm talking about Greengrass and your father."

At the mention of his father, Izar turned to watch Regulus. The man was sitting regally next to Charles Greengrass. Whatever he was saying to the taller and broader man wasn't pleasant, judging from the way Charles was leaning closer to him, his lips pursed tightly.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Draco; you'll need to be more specific."

Grey eyes glowered. "For being so smart, you are _thick _at times. Greengrass is trying to set up an arranged marriage with you and his daughter," Draco spat. "Odd. It was just this morning that the _Prophet _came out with the revelation that you are a Black. It didn't take him too long to approach your father about it. Because you're the son of a powerful pure-blood family, I suppose you are worthy enough for his precious daughter's hand."

Jealousy. The boy was spitting acid similar to that of jealousy.

Izar rocked back on his heels, his lips thinning. He didn't know if Draco was right to assume Charles had approached Regulus for an arranged marriage. He doubted it, but if it were true, Izar had faith that Regulus would refuse. Daphne would be devastated, but it was for her own safety. Voldemort surely wouldn't be happy. And Izar wouldn't be happy. The more he thought about it, he wondered if Daphne really wanted the arranged marriage.

Despite being rather oblivious to affection, Izar didn't think Daphne held romantic feelings for him. It was more of an endearing sort of relationship. Friendship, he supposed.

"If I remember correctly," Izar intoned softly, "I wasn't good enough for you until you found out I was a Black. What makes his actions so much different?" Izar challenged with his chin raised superiorly.

A flush pooled near Draco's cheekbones before the boy glared. He took another step forward, making the space between them almost disappear. "That's different. This is about marriage. For life. Your father barely presents himself in your life and he's about to sign your fidelity to Greengrass. How is that even fair?"

Izar bristled at the insult to his father, but remained calm. It wouldn't do to allow his temper free reign, especially when Draco was already at the end of his patience. The last thing Izar wanted was to make a scene in front of the other Death Eaters.

Reaching up, Izar caressed his temple. His headache was piercing by now and he didn't know how long he could take being out here. It was difficult to see straight with the migraine throbbing on the side of his temple. "Regulus doesn't strike me as a man who would agree to such an arrangement," Izar replied, a bit bored.

Regulus was a homosexual. Or so he had admitted to Izar. The man wouldn't agree to an arranged marriage, would he?

Draco thought so. And he wasn't calming down in the least. Izar's headache was growing worse with Draco's anger.

"I should have known," Izar started again. "You and Daphne have a… '_thing' _for one another. It makes sense." He had thought, originally, that Draco was always jealous of Daphne for being close to Izar. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that their instant dislike for one another seemed a bit off. It was too extreme. And now that Draco was upset with the mention of Daphne's arranged marriage, Izar had a hunch that they secretly desired one another.

The front of his robes was taken by Draco's fist. The blond turned them both around, ducking behind a large grey statue to avoid any witnesses. Izar barely composed himself as he was pushed against the statue before Draco dived for his lips. It was his second kiss today.

Did this day _ever _bloody end? Especially with all the physical touches and endearing motives, it was irksome.

Draco's fingers lightly tapped Izar's face as if he were uncertain of touching Izar's face during the kiss. In the end, he settled for curling his fingers in Izar's robes, pulling their bodies closer. It wasn't a ghastly kiss and Draco was a lot more graceful in the action than Izar was when he had kissed Voldemort.

The ring on his middle finger burned. It wasn't a searing burn, but it was a warning. Izar had the crazy urge to see how far he could go with another lover. What would be the consequences? Who would get hurt? But he was not in the mood to dabble with the chance of irritating the Dark Lord at the moment. Especially when Izar was sure the man felt the same burn with his ring, alerting him that his 'intended' was being unfaithful.

Izar sighed, breaking the kiss with a turn of his head. His fingers curled around Draco's shoulders, pushing the boy to arm's length. Before Izar could deliver a scathing and cruel remark to the blond, he caught sight of the vulnerability in the grey eyes. Draco donned the Malfoy mask expertly, but Izar had a sharp enough eye to see the lost child beneath the surface. Draco was afraid of Izar's rejection, yet hopeful at the same time.

Did things always have to go against him?

"We're related, Draco," Izar murmured quietly. "There is no way in hell I am going to initiate a relationship with someone of my blood." Briefly, he wondered when he started to grow so soft and pleasant with people who irritated him.

"We are hardly cousins," Draco insisted. "Your grandparents were cousins. And there are rumors going around that your father and uncle weren't at all innocent when it came to incest. Regulus won't look down on you because of your involvement with me."

Izar bit his lip as he fought the chuckle. Sirius and _Regulus_? It would never conjure itself in his mind because it didn't make sense. For the better part of Regulus' childhood, he was smitten with Lily Evans. And when he wasn't revolving around her, he immersed himself with Severus Snape.

"I'm not…" Izar trailed off, leaning his head against the stone pillar as he tried to form the correct words. "Regulus' opinion is regarded highly, yes, but he does not run my life or my actions. _I _am saying we can't do this because I am not attracted to you." He was at the end of his rope, especially as he noticed the dark shadows cross behind Draco's eyes.

"You are just attracted to Greengrass," Draco accused spitefully.

Izar snapped.

Grabbing Draco around the neck, he reversed their positions so that the taller boy was pushed against the rock. Izar's fingers were tight around the vulnerable skin of Draco. The taller boy had to bend his knees with the force Izar was pushing him with. Their eyes were on equal level and Izar grinned maliciously.

"I am not attracted to you, nor am I attracted to Daphne." Izar gave a dark smile and Draco's eyes widened at the sight of it. Leaning closer, Izar teased the boy with his breath. Draco's eyelids fluttered with a bit of pleasure. "You would never make it out untarnished if you entered a relationship with me, Draco. You see, I enjoy mind games and I enjoy the power and the thrill and the sexual tension. _You_ are too safe. I would just scar you beyond your mental constrictions."

Running a fingernail across Draco's jaw, Izar tisked. "Consider that a warning, my dear _cousin_."

Izar released Draco and turned to leave the garden of boulders the blond had led him to. He ignored all the inquiring stares and met Snape's onyx eyes. Inconspicuously, Izar touched his left forearm and then continued back to the Manor.

Regulus was deep in discussion with Bellatrix. Their eyes mirrored each other in dark pleasure as they parried insults back and forth.

Regulus was perfectly fine by himself. He needed to make peace with the Death Eaters without Izar's presence.

Voldemort, on the other hand, was surprisingly standing alone. He nursed a goblet of liquor as he watched Izar's retreat through thoughtful eyes. Snape wouldn't be able to follow Izar without notice, Izar knew. It didn't matter. He could accomplish his plans with the Dark Mark by himself.

Tomorrow night, during Christmas Eve, there would be a Yuletide celebration. Izar's presence would be expected, simply because the Death Eaters and the rest of the guests would be leaving the next day at Christmas day.

Until the celebration, he would become scarce.

**{Death of Today}**

It was pure determination that drove him.

Otherwise, he would have put off the manipulation of the Dark Mark due to his nagging illness.

His forehead was sweating almost as much as the rest of his body. The goose bumps from earlier today were still present, conflicting with his fever and the sweat staining his robes. He had thought that the distance he put between himself and other magical beings would lessen the stress on his body. But even his room in the Malfoy Manor couldn't subdue the sensitivity he felt to their magic.

Izar breathed deeply through his nostrils as he looked up at the mirror. His hair was matted in the most disgusting manner, slick with moisture and losing some of its natural wave. His pallor was sickly and the vivid green shards of color in his eyes were rather dim, yielding to the overpowering charcoal.

He stripped down to his pants after locking himself in his bathroom. His body was quivering, exaggerating his thinness. But his attention was on the black Dark Mark. It was an ugly stain on his body, an obvious mark of ownership. While he didn't regret his decision to join Voldemort's ranks, he _did _despise the evident mark. He loathed the invisible collar around his neck and the strings that pulled him through every day motions.

He wanted to do something to shake himself of everyone's hold. Dumbledore, Voldemort, Regulus, and just _everyone _in general were starting to weigh him down heavily. At times, he believed he had lost himself to the demands of everyone else; to their expectations; to their commands and judgments.

It always came down to him, though. He was independent and he wanted to accomplish something to prove that sovereignty. Manipulating the Dark Mark may seem like such a small way of proving that he was in control of his own actions, but it was for his own sanity. He looked at his body every day, either after or before a shower, or when he was changing clothes. He always saw the Dark Mark, and, in turn, he was always reminded of his servitude. If he could manipulate it to his own tastes, it would be a vivid reminder that he _was _powerful and in control of his own life.

Izar brought the brother to Voldemort's wand up to his nose and inhaled. A pang of desire and thrill throbbed in his belly as he held the powerful wand.

He twirled the holly wand in his fingers before caressing the Dark Mark with his wand. The serpent in the skull's mouth hissed in desire at the familiar feeling of the phoenix feather. "Yes, that's it," Izar breathed. "You recognize this, don't you?" He caressed the Mark again, watching as the black tattoo became impossibly dark with the wand's touch.

The serpent opened its mouth, baring its fangs in glee. Izar smiled thinly, eyeing the ward around the Dark Mark. It was incredibly strong and sour with the darkest of Dark magic. Izar lifted his lip, considering.

It was possible that if Izar removed the ward, Voldemort would be alerted right away. But if he was careful enough, subtle enough, there was a chance that Voldemort would be oblivious. But the Protean Charm connected all the Dark Marks to Voldemort's wand, and in turn, the man himself. Wands were _a part _of a wizard's core. Wizards bonded with their wands and Voldemort would be able to detect the breaking of a ward if it was a powerful and strong break.

Izar leaned against the wall and slowly sat down on the vanity. Subconsciously, he was aware that he was caressing the hissing serpent. The reptile was all but purring at the touch of the brother to Voldemort's wand. Izar paid no heed as he stared unseeingly at the Mark.

Would it be possible to construct his _own _ward underneath Voldemort's?

Leaning his head against the cold mirror, Izar considered. If he placed his ward underneath Voldemort's, that would mean the Dark Mark would still be protected, and thus Voldemort wouldn't be alerted if Izar took off his ward.

He leaned forward, his earlier illness being pushed aside in favor of excitement.

The properties of his ward would need to be somewhat similar to Voldemort's magic. But Izar decided he wasn't going to place a strong ward around the Mark. If Voldemort ever found out about Izar's Mark, which would undoubtedly happen, he didn't want it to hurt as Voldemort tore through Izar's ward in fury.

He pursed his lips as he murmured a simple Latin incantation. It would be a simple ward, one that would remove many of the properties Voldemort placed in his own ward. Izar wouldn't feel pain when Voldemort summoned his Death Eaters and Izar also removed the property that would entitle Voldemort to summon Izar to him by Apparition through the Mark. He paused as he recognized the secrecy spell in Voldemort's ward. It prevented his Death Eaters from speaking about Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort as the same person to someone who wasn't Marked.

In the end, he added that to his own ward. He never wanted to betray Voldemort's secret. And hopefully the Dark Lord would recognize that Izar had added that property to his own ward in a show of loyalty to the man.

The purple ward oozed from Izar's wand in a lazy cloud of magic. It bonded to the Dark Mark underneath Voldemort's smoky grey ward. If Izar succeeded in removing Voldemort's ward from his arm, there would be no barrier in changing the shape, color, and position of the Dark Mark.

But that was _if _Izar succeeded in removing the Dark Lord's ward.

He wasn't stupid. The Dark Lord had studied the Dark Arts for many years, going as far as hunting for immortality. Immortality was a severe branch of Dark magic and if Izar thought Bellatrix's magic tasted vile, he could only imagine what the Dark Lord's magic tasted like. However, the man had the ability to cast clean magic as well. Most of Riddle's magic was grey, nothing too Light and nothing too Dark. It was the ward on Izar's arm that was impossibly Dark.

Only a powerful wizard could change the properties of his magic at will like the Dark Lord did. Most Dark wizards and witches could cast Light spells. But the magic itself would have Dark undertones to it, and if Izar tasted it, it would be Dark despite the innocent spell. And in its place, Light wizards could cast Dark spells, but the curse would have a Light undertone.

Voldemort was able to manipulate his magic on level with a Master.

Izar gave a light sigh, toying with the ward. It bucked against his wand, pushing his hand away. If Izar listened closely, he could hear the hissing. And the hissing was _not _coming from the serpent.

Cautiously, he tried to strip away the magic like he had with Appleton's and Ollivander's wards. As Izar pulled away the first layer of magic on Voldemort's ward, a painful shock traveled up his wand arm. Howling, Izar dropped the wand and curled in on himself. Controlling his breathing, his mind raced with possibilities and solutions.

He sat up abruptly, eyes widening.

Could he eat Voldemort's magic and, in turn, resist the ward?

It would be entirely risky on his behalf. If Bellatrix's magic had affected him so much, he could only imagine what would happen if he ate the Dark Lord's magic. Nonetheless, when he was stubborn and curious, he _needed _to sate that itching urge with answers.

Summoning his wand to him nonverbally, he frowned in concentration. _"__Cassesium," _he intoned. The brittle web-like shield stood strong in front of Izar.

Slowly, he inched his forearm closer to the shield. The Dark Lord's ward hissed as it touched the barrier, but Izar's shield was able to absorb some of the magic. Hesitating, Izar stared at the grey magic in the web-like shield. It looked as if it was slowly tarnishing the white web.

Without hesitating any longer, Izar reached forward and touched the web. Voldemort's magic balled at the end of his fingers as he caressed the magical barrier. The magic was incredibly cold, almost burning his skin. Taking a deep breath, Izar made a face before swallowing the magic on his fingers.

The web around him shattered to the ground and Izar threw his head back, crying out.

The mirror shattered behind him, showering him with sharp shards of glass. Blood poured from his nose as he struggled to keep the magic down. His skin turned an inky grey and he whimpered as he quickly touched his wand to the ward on his arm. He didn't have time to waste, not when he was uncertain how long Voldemort's magic could stay down in his stomach.

The ward didn't hiss this time around. Instead, it seemed docile as it eagerly complied with Izar's wand as he stripped the ward layer by layer. As the ward unraveled, he felt an odd sensation lingering in his belly.

Self-satisfaction.

A weight lifted from his shoulders as the ward dissipated and he laughed.

Oh Merlin, this felt amazing.

He felt free.

His merriment didn't last long as his body was forced to recognize the painful magic it held. His stomach turned ice-cold and his breathing came out in tight gasps. He leaned across the vanity, thrusting his face in the sink, hoping to vomit out the magic. Nothing came out. Sweaty fingers curled around the sink's edge as he shuddered on top of the broken mirror. The glass cut his body in multiple areas, but his mind was too focused on his freezing lungs to care.

It was similar to that of a cramp, a cramp that would be the end of him as it squeezed the walls of his stomach and chest. It was so cold. And the sweat across his body contrasted horribly.

Blood from his nose painted the porcelain sink and he laid there, mesmerized by the remarkable clash of porcelain white and crimson. Dimly, it reminded him of Voldemort's eyes and his ivory skin.

Izar groped for his wand. He needed to cast a hex that would make him throw up Voldemort's magic before _it _consumed him and stopped his heart. His fingers encountered nothing but sharp glass. Izar gave a grunt, his lips no doubt turning blue with the lack of oxygen. His skin was still inky grey, proof that Voldemort's magic was still deeply imbedded in his body.

Suddenly, the door to the bathroom opened.

Charcoal-green eyes widened, but he slumped in relief when he saw that it was Snape.

Snape, on the other hand, didn't seem relieved. His eyes widened comically at the sight Izar made before he shut the door quickly behind him. "Dare I ask?" Snape, getting over his initial surprise, sounded dryly amused.

"Vomit," Izar whispered out, motioning to his stomach, which laid in a pile of glass.

Snape's eyelids drooped before he pulled out his wand, casting a nonverbal spell at Izar.

Luckily, the man understood what Izar was referring to. Within seconds, his stomach clenched and he threw up Voldemort's magic. Remembering what happened with Bellatrix's magic last time, Izar forced his body to move quickly as the magic met the porcelain sink. His feet crushed the glass as he pushed Snape away just as the vanity exploded. They covered their heads with their arms, luckily far enough away that they weren't harmed.

Izar lowered his arm, staring at the destroyed bathroom.

Dimly, he wondered if it was too damaged to repair it with magic and if the Malfoy's would be furious.

"Sit," Snape ordered, grabbing Izar by the shoulders. The Ravenclaw was forced to sit at the edge of the shower as the man healed the lesions on his body from the glass. Izar watched the man work. Snape's lips were always thin, but they were nearly gone as he concentrated.

"Don't you want to know if I succeeded?" Izar croaked. His nose was still bleeding lightly and he could taste the copper-like flavor in his mouth. He wondered if Voldemort would have enjoyed it as much as Izar hated it.

Onyx eyes glanced at him sternly before continuing on with the healing.

Izar sighed.

"I don't think we would be having this discussion if you hadn't succeeded," Snape started before Izar could continue. "I would ask after your methods, but I can already guess what you have done."

Izar scoffed, grinning rather stupidly. "Really?" he murmured in question. "And what do you think I did?"

"You used the brother wand to Lord Voldemort to construct your own ward. After which, judging by the guests' constant prattle about your duel with Bellatrix, you used your newly invented spell to eat his ward." Snape finished his work and stood up from his crouched position. "Rather remarkable, Mr. Black."

Izar's delight was short lived as Snape scowled.

"What I'd like to know is how long you think you can hide it from the Dark Lord?"

Standing up, Izar reached out to brace himself on the wall. He eyed the destroyed bathroom unhappily. "This wasn't so much about getting away with a crime as it was seeing if I could succeed." Izar growled darkly. "And I did. This was about proving everyone wrong, the Dark Lord in particular. I _enjoy _solving riddles that are deemed impossible. And I'd do it all over again if I had the choice."

His nostrils flared as he stared Snape down.

The Potions Master bowed his head, offering a curt nod. "I can see your intentions, Mr. Black. You did a noteworthy job. I can only express my concerns for when the Dark Lord finds out."

"It won't be soon, I can guarantee you that," Izar promised hoarsely. "Let me bathe in my triumph, Professor."

Snape eyed him longer than necessary before giving another curt nod. "Then I shall leave you to your celebration." The man turned on his heel to exit the bathroom, though not before he flicked his wand, putting back the mirror and the destroyed vanity.

"Professor," Izar called out, stopping the man from leaving. "You _are _staying for tomorrow night's Yuletide celebration, correct?" Despite the fact that it was not New Year's Eve as of yet, most wizards celebrated the coming year on Christmas Eve. And Yuletide celebrations were known to be traditional among wizards and witches. It was the night magic was alive and where pure-bloods unwound their tight arsed shoulders to enjoy the festivities of the night.

Izar was _not _looking forward to it. But Regulus wanted Izar to join him.

Black eyebrows formed high arches. "And what, exactly, gave you the impression that I would stay to enjoy such a valueless _gala_?"

Izar's lips twitched. "The same reason I'm going. For Regulus." It was meant to be a light hearted jab, but Izar stiffened when he saw a dangerous light enter Snape's eyes. "And watching the others make fools out of themselves," he added hastily. Perhaps he needed to take a step back from teasing Snape about Regulus.

Snape's lips thinned and he left without another word.

Izar blinked, sitting back down to rest his shaking body. He almost knocked over a vial of potion next to him. Blinking, Izar grasped the vial and held it up. He hadn't seen Snape place it down, but the Potions Master was notorious when it came to subtlety. And judging from the color of the potion and the thickness of the liquid, Izar deduced that it was a Blood Replenishing potion.

It was late enough to retire for the night. And he would take advantage of that. There was no way in hell he would go back to the party tonight. The day had been long enough with the _Prophet _incident, the duel with Bellatrix, and…

His feverish eyes landed on the Dark Mark.

A light smirk played his lips as he wondered what he should transform it to. Surely, he must make it something the Dark Lord would look down upon.

* * *

**{Notes}** Probably one more chapter of Izar's winter break and then we go back to Hogwarts for the Second Task and confrontations with Lily ;)


	26. Part I Chapter 26

**{Notes}** Thanks for all of you who reviewed last chapter. And thanks to _Itallia_ for editing this chapter :)

The Dark Mark will be explained in further detail later on in the story. Just know that Izar has manipulated in such a way that he knows when Voldemort is calling him and when Voldemort means to give him pain through it (it just doesn't come through as pain).

…You'll see when Izar reveals the shape of the Mark. Which you won't know until Voldemort sees it.

**Chapter Twenty Six**

Izar handed the Portkey over to Voldemort, watching as the Dark Lord held up the incredibly small object.

Crimson eyes narrowed as they assessed the small chip between his index and thumb finger. "Very small," the man mused.

_Hopefully as small as your bloody dick, you bastard, _Izar thought grouchily, his shoulders stiff as the Dark Lord continued to eye the Portkey Izar had invented. There was always _something _that made Izar uptight when his work was being evaluated. He hated rejection and he hated judgment, especially when it was directed towards one of his inventions.

"Is there anything wrong?" Izar drawled in question, his eyes flashing. "You've been ogling at it for awhile now. Would you like me to make it smaller?" The cushioning charms would need to be shrunk along with the chip in order to make it workable. Otherwise, the spells would collide together, completely destroying the Portkey.

They were standing near the gardens of the Malfoy Manor, not far from where Draco had brought him yesterday. After more than nine hours of sleep and ingesting a Blood Replenishing potion, Izar felt a lot better than he had in months. He had eaten a large breakfast with Regulus in the privacy of their rooms before he was dragged outside by a sharp rap to his door. Draco, his posture rigid, had informed Izar that the Dark Lord requested his presence in the gardens. And he was told to bring along his little 'project' that he had been working on.

Izar had concluded that Voldemort wanted to test his Portkey. After arriving outside on the patio, he had been happy to see the area mostly cleared. The guests, along with the Death Eaters, were going home tomorrow. Today was Christmas Eve and the Yule celebration was occurring tonight. Izar could only imagine what the Death Eaters had in mind for the celebration.

Regrettably, Izar realized most of the Death Eaters weren't sleeping as he originally had thought. Instead, they were waiting at an undisclosed location for both Izar and the Dark Lord to arrive by the invented Portkey.

If the Portkey worked properly, Izar and Voldemort would arrive at the same location the Death Eaters were waiting at. Within twenty seconds, the Portkey should re-activate and transport Izar and Voldemort _back _to the manor with the Death Eaters in tow. The Death Eaters wouldn't need to touch the Portkey to be brought back to the Manor.

It would work. He had no doubts.

"It's faultless," Voldemort murmured in amusement as he crouched down next to the stone bench. His tone suggested that he had intended to make Izar uneasy with his continued surveillance of the Portkey.

Charcoal-green eyes narrowed.

Voldemort disregarded him in favor of placing the Portkey delicately on a large golden plate. The man's long, white fingers caressed the edges of the plate, testing the Portkey's stability. And just as the man had originally asked for, Izar made sure the Portkey would stick to any object, and, in turn, make _that _object a Portkey alongside the small chip.

Izar hated how the man could make _crouching _looked dignified and graceful. Even when Riddle was many inches shorter than him, he still made Izar feel short. "And it will transport the Death Eaters who are standing within five meters, correct?" Voldemort questioned.

Izar bristled, lifting his lip. "Five meters," Izar confirmed darkly. "Just as you asked."

Voldemort looked up from the golden plate to consider Izar through heavy-lidded crimson eyes. The Dark Lord's lips twitched. "Forgive me; I know better than to question a Master about his works. Severus is the same way with his potions."

Izar ignored the man's comment and favored watching as Riddle unfolded his tall frame. He tried not to notice how Voldemort easily towered over him. As soon as Izar's eyes swept the length of the tall frame, Voldemort noticed his observation. Clearing his throat, Izar averted his eyes from Voldemort and back on the golden plate. "You never told me what you planned to use the Portkey for," Izar hinted. Voldemort, when ordering the Portkey made at the Hog's Head, had mentioned using the invention in the Ministry. But the Dark Lord did not confirm or deny those claims.

"I must apologize again," Voldemort started silkily. "I had no intention to make you think I would indulge you with that information."

White hot irritation burned Izar's body at the man's words. He held his chin high and his face froze into cool indifference. "It's my invention," Izar pointed out unnecessarily. "Don't I deserve an explanation to what it's going to be used for? I can just unhinge its properties and make it useless just when you're about to use it."

His threat was far too light and Voldemort easily saw through his farce. A smile stretched Voldemort's thin lips and the man's eyes became hooded as he stared Izar down. "You have no intention of corrupting the Portkey simply because you are too eager to see your invention in action. In fact, I can imagine you would even invent something for Dumbledore if it meant you would get the chance of seeing your invention put to the test."

Izar swallowed thickly. Vaguely, he watched the crimson eyes follow the Adams apple at his neck. "Not bloody likely." A flush warmed the top of his ears when he realized that Voldemort was very close to the truth. "When Lord Voldemort comes out to the public, are you going to use the Portkey at the Ministry?" Izar paused, realizing Voldemort was still gazing at his neck.

"I'm sorry," the man began airily after blinking and looking away from Izar's neck. "I'm afraid I didn't hear a word you were saying."

Even Izar could sense that lie. The Dark Lord _had _heard what he was saying. Voldemort just wanted an excuse to ignore Izar's allegations and turn the subject around. Scoffing, Izar shook his head, unhappily bowing to the man's intentions of changing the subject. "That's the third time today you apologized, My Lord." He blinked sweetly. "Are you going soft?"

Crimson eyes brightened and Voldemort took an advancing step forward. Izar bit his tongue. He should have kept quiet.

The newly manipulated Dark Mark on his forearm seemed to weigh his arm down. He was reminded that the Dark Lord _would _find out sooner rather than later and the results wouldn't be painless. No matter, he was proud of himself for breaking the mystery to the Dark Mark. Regardless of what Voldemort intended to do as punishment, Izar would take it with a smile on his lips.

Voldemort cupped his cheek, a dark smirk on his face. "You amuse me, child," Voldemort murmured. "I can't help but notice you're trying to inch away the closer I come to you. I would have thought yesterday's proceedings would put you at ease with physical touch." The man's tone was anything but comforting. It was mocking, amused, and purely sadistic.

"You got lucky then," Izar murmured scathingly. "My Ravenclaw qualities were at their highest yesterday. I was simply curious." He would never be able to forget the kiss he shared with the Dark Lord. Despite the clumsiness on his behalf, it was a frightening thrill—so pleasant. Would he want to kiss Voldemort again? Yes, he wouldn't mind any advances from the Dark Lord. But Izar was too distrusting of this new development with Voldemort to succumb.

He was afraid of becoming too lost in Voldemort. He was afraid that Voldemort's creature-like possessiveness would smother him until he was only a shadow of his past self.

Izar had to come to terms with this… this _relationship _before he gave in. Only then would he feel comfortable enough.

Voldemort leaned closer, looking as if he were going to kiss Izar. Instead, he bypassed Izar's mouth and ventured to the pulse-point at Izar's neck. A breathless chuckle tickled Izar's skin before a sharp pain pierced his ear.

Gasping, Izar reared back, holding his hand up to his ear. By the time his fingers assessed the bloody damage to his earlobe, Voldemort was already reaching for the Portkey. "You're a bastard," Izar seethed. The man's teeth had pierced right through his skin. "Should I be disinfecting my ear against rabies?"

Voldemort hovered near the Portkey, considering the object and acting as if he hadn't heard anything being said. "Let's not waste our spare time bickering, child. You wouldn't want to keep young Draco waiting in the Manor all day long."

Izar bristled. "You don't sound too angry over that," he observed skeptically. Judging from the man's bright, amused eyes, the situation wasn't worthwhile. Izar _had _earlier suspicions that Voldemort had known about Draco's kiss. After all, the ring had burned, so it must have alerted Voldemort as well.

The Dark Lord turned, his long black cloak twisting about his ankles at the motion. A black eyebrow twitched. "There is no reason to be." The man's voice was a dark whisper, promising Izar that if there _was _need to be angry, Draco wouldn't be intact at that very moment. "Is there?"

Izar pursed his lips in answer, taking out his worn pocket watch from his cloak. Whenever he pulled out the tarnished watch, he was reminded vividly of his orphanage, the very same place he stole the piece of jewelry from.

"I do not claim that there is anything to be angry over," Izar began softly. "I just think you're taking it extremely well," he added a bit suspiciously. There was always the possibility that Voldemort was taking care of Draco behind the scenes and was feigning disinterest on the exterior.

Voldemort made an amused sound in the back of his throat. "I do not get threatened over young, hormonal teenage boys. And women, no matter their age, are no threat."

Izar realized Riddle was sexist. Izar pondered on that before changing his mind. Voldemort had Bellatrix as a close comrade and many other Death Eater women. Perhaps Voldemort just didn't consider them any threat. He wasn't sexist; he just found it hard to be threatened by the female counterpart.

Izar chuckled beneath his breath. "That's good to know for future reference," Izar replied cheekily.

"It's a shame I find my attention wavering on this _significant_ and _vital _conversational topic," Voldemort drawled as he waved his wand over the Portkey, activating it. "But we have far more pressing details to straighten out."

Flipping open the cover of the pocket watch, Izar nodded sharply to Voldemort. He too was growing bored with the direction the conversation was headed. He was just eager to see how his Portkey worked out.

Grasping his watch with one hand, he reached for the golden plate with the other. Charcoal-green eyes locked with crimson before both wizards grabbed hold. A pleased sensation tightened his stomach as they were pulled through time and space.

Within seconds, Izar landed on his feet and he pushed the pocket watch to start recording the seconds. Only when the third hand traveled across the five second mark did he look up.

He found himself surrounded by the Death Eaters from every angle. They were situated in a field weighed down by snow. It was probably located near the Malfoy Manor. Lucius was the closest Death Eater to Izar, his expression cool save for the small smirk creasing the corner of his lips.

Izar ignored the others as he dropped the plate to the ground. It was easy to forget they were there. They had quieted with the arrival of their Lord. "The Portkey should take us all without physical contact," he explained softly. In order to see if the Portkey worked properly, Izar didn't want anyone touching it. That way he could study the Portkey in more depth if he realized it was not picking up the surrounding wizards within five meters without touch.

Ten seconds.

"I place my bet that it won't work," a man in the crowd declared spitefully.

Without turning, Izar knew who had spoken. "Well," he drawled. "Now I understand why the Crabbe family fortune is rather lacking." Murmurs spread through the Death Eaters; some chuckled while others exclaimed at his smart mouth. Voldemort remained silent, his towering frame sticking noticeably out from the crowd.

Fifteen seconds.

Izar eyed the golden plate with the small, almost indistinguishable chip on top of it. It wasn't glowing, or trembling. Not that it was expected to show such obvious signs of working. In fact, Izar preferred the Portkey not to make noticeable signals that it was about to activate again.

He scowled, feeling the large sensation of disappointment wash through him as twenty seconds came and went.

Crabbe snorted, sensing Izar's failure. "The boy isn't even intelligent enough to make a Portkey correctly."

Lucius' eyes flashed. "Have some consideration, Crabbe." Next to him, Bellatrix was caressing her crooked wand as one would do a precious jewel. While they may be obvious in their support for Izar, the Dark Lord was remaining silent, knowing better than to side with Izar on such a trivial issue.

Anger got the better of Izar as the Ravenclaw turned around, hissing in Crabbe's portly face. The man paled at Izar' actions, taking a step back. "And _you _don't have enough intelligence to even come up with a proper insult. You wouldn't have enough creativity to construct this Portkey, let alone—,"

Before Izar could finish his retort, his body was being tugged ruthlessly by the Portkey.

They were all being sucked in by the Portkey on the ground. Because they weren't being stabilized and anchored by physically touching a Portkey, their bodies were being flung carelessly through time and space. Izar's neck snapped back and his body flung in odd angles. He tried in vain to keep himself from spinning so quickly, but he relaxed his body as best he could to resist injury.

The rest of the Death Eaters were having the same problem. They were fast moving blurs to Izar's eyes, so he kept his eyes shut, hoping to ward off the motion sickness.

A naked fear began to worm itself in Izar's stomach the longer they remained traveling. Was it possible that he had mistakenly invented an object that would make them spin through time forever? Izar couldn't believe it, not with an invention he created himself, but he felt Voldemort's magic expand as if he were thinking along the same lines as Izar.

He had worried needlessly.

The ground came at him quickly and Izar rotated his body skillfully in order to land gracefully on his feet. His knees bent with the impact of the landing. The other Death Eaters weren't so lucky. Most of them landed on their stomachs and backs, groaning with the impact. A few of the poised ones stayed on their feet. And as if to prove to Izar that he was capable, Crabbe also landed on his feet. The man offered a smug smile that turned into a frown as the Portkey finally arrived.

The golden plate hit him squarely in the head.

Through smug eyes, Izar watched Crabbe Senior fall to the floor. Sniffing, the Ravenclaw continued to eye the Death Eaters who had all landed ungracefully on the ground. "You all better practice your landing," he informed smartly, stepping callously on Crabbe's fingers on his way to the Manor. "You wouldn't want to make such pathetic spectacles of yourselves in front of your enemies."

He still had a headache from the night before. And everyone's auras were just as noticeable as yesterday. He would have thought, after a good night's rest, that things would have gone back to normal.

They hadn't.

Izar just needed to get used to his intensified power and be grateful he got to see more magic.

He just didn't want to deal with the Death Eaters so early in the morning.

**{Death of Today}**

"Did you agree to Charles' arrangement?" Izar inquired softly as he tapped his quill against his parchment. He was situated in Regulus' assigned rooms, completing his Charms essay that was due after the holidays. Despite the simplicity of the material Izar was having trouble concentrating.

Regulus looked up from the stack of legal documents, raising an eyebrow. The two of them had decided to spend some time together today, before the Yuletide celebration. Izar was hesitant at first, feeling a bit pressured into his father's proximity. He didn't want their relationship to become strained with forced dialect. So far, there hadn't been any awkward tendencies or _fluffy _bonding time and Izar didn't want to ruin that with this 'bonding session'. But the longer Izar sat in Regulus' rooms, the more he realized that he shouldn't have worried.

Regulus enjoyed the silence just as well as Izar did. His father wasn't pushing for conversation. In fact, the man was knee deep in his own business with legal contracts with Black properties and artifacts that had been destroyed or looted in his absence. There were also quite a few documents for donations to certain causes that were in need of completion. Izar was sure the donations were a way to get back in the political scene. Izar wondered if Regulus would apply for a job within the Ministry soon. From his position, he could see a few letters of recommendation and also a few job applications.

As far as Izar knew, every pure-blood had a chair in the Wizengamot court. Because Regulus was rightfully the Head of the Black family, he would be placing his foot in the door that way.

"His arrangement?" Regulus repeated, setting his sharp quill down.

Izar narrowed his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean."

Regulus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think it's a very good idea, Izar. In all honesty." He held up a hand before Izar could give his retort. "I think that Daphne is a very intelligent and charming young lady."

"You've never met her, Regulus," Izar accused scathingly. His fingers curled around the edge of Regulus desk. He stared down his father, who sat directly across from him. "What is the real reason you agreed?"

"I did not agree," Regulus growled lightly. "I will not subject you to an arranged marriage. My mother tried to do the same to Sirius and I and we both rebelled. While I would like for you to continue the Black line, I will not force your hand. Or your…" his eyes dropped to Izar's lap, "seed."

Izar remained silent for a long moment. He had never thought about continuing the Black line. If Sirius never had children, Izar would be the last male Black of the direct line. Draco was part Black, but he would continue the Malfoy name, not the Black. And Izar knew that the continuation of their lines was extremely important to pure-bloods.

"There is always adoption." Izar straightened up, eyeing his father. "Blood adoption. There are rituals and spells a family can use to adopt a son or daughter. The rituals will allow the child to adapt physical and mental traits from the parent. You don't always need to impregnate a woman to carry on the pure-blood line."

Regulus brought up his clasped hands and settled his chin on his fingers. Eerie charcoal eyes stared at Izar. It was the most intensity Izar had seen coming from Regulus. "That is true," Regulus admitted at last, his voice exceptionally quiet. The man continued to search Izar's face as if he could see all his secrets. "Are you trying to tell me you prefer men, Izar?"

Izar controlled the flush and met Regulus' stare straight on. "It doesn't matter which gender I prefer."

Regulus' lip twitched in amusement. "No," he conceded, his posture still rigid. "It doesn't matter which sex you prefer. I was only curious." Regulus tilted his head to the side, eyes still intense. "You should know better than to think I would judge you. Have I not confessed my own sexuality?"

Izar sighed through his nose, looking down at his half-written essay. "You are deviating from our original topic. You think arranging a marriage with Daphne Greengrass would be productive. Not just because of the possible heir, but for another reason. What?" He raised his lashes, looking stoically at his father.

Regulus clapped his hands, almost inaudible, before leaning back in his chair. "I despise the relationship you share with the Dark Lord." Regulus sniffed, shrugging. "I will not stand for his sexual advances on my fifteen-year-old son."

Izar leaned forward, flattening his palms against the desk. "I already told you he is not interested me in _that_ way," Izar lifted his lip in disgust. He was a decent liar, even for not being a Legilimens and Occlumens. However, Regulus was stubborn. And Izar knew he would need to work hard in order to banish his father's beliefs. "He wants me as his political heir. And at any rate, if he _was _interested in me sexually, do you really think an arranged marriage would stop him from pursuing me? It would only anger him."

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "You sound as if you've thought about this already, Izar." The man shrugged again, almost irritated with himself. "But you're correct," he continued. "An arranged marriage certainly wouldn't stop his advances."

"You need to trust me," Izar murmured. He slid his hands back, his eyes catching the fingerless glove on his hand. "There is nothing like that between the Dark Lord and I."

Regulus hummed. "Still," he spoke crisply, "I don't like that you are his political heir. It will paint a target on your back for his enemies. The political front is just as dangerous as the front lines of battle. Only, in the political scene, the attacks aren't as apparent. You'll always have to look over your shoulder, especially with being Undersecretary Riddle's heir."

"I will always have a target on me," Izar defended himself.

Regulus growled, his dark disposition shining through. "Even more so with his blatant favoritism," the man snarled, his lip lifting and his eyes becoming deranged.

The conversation was heading downward. Father and son had never sunk into such depth in a conversation. They always danced around important topics and expressed diplomacy when it came to minding their own business. It appeared that Regulus was becoming more comfortable with the fact that Izar was _his _son. Regulus may be a decent father, both caring and concerned, but there was a darker side to the man, a side that Izar knew better than to push… at least right now. It was a side that Bellatrix had, a side most Blacks were known for: a dark insanity.

Izar looked up at Regulus. Regulus was no longer that young adult, swooning after a puppy-dog love. He was no longer the young man who would trail after a Mudblood and become blind to everything else around him.

Looking at Regulus, Izar traced the cold charcoal eyes and the lines of tension. Regulus was now a man who had been hardened by betrayal and over fifteen years of isolation. The man had lived every day with the memory of his past mistakes and his weaknesses. Something told Izar that Regulus would never allow his weaknesses to run him again.

Regulus once confessed to Izar that if he were presented with the past again, he wouldn't change anything. He would have chosen to fall in love with Lily again and conceive Izar with her.

But Izar saw differently. If the hardened man sitting before him was given the chance to do it all again, Izar had no doubt that Regulus would kill Lily.

"The Dark Lord wants me to graduate early." Izar sat back, relaxed. He decided he would be the one to change the subject. "He thinks I should take my NEWTs this year. They aren't required, but he believes I should take them in order to prove that I don't need to return next year."

Regulus scoffed, grinning sarcastically at the window. "He already expressed his beliefs," Regulus wondered. "I just didn't think he'd spring it on you so soon."

"You knew?" Izar raised an eyebrow.

"I did," Regulus admitted, turning back to Izar. "And I full heartedly agree with him. You are _bored _at school, Izar. There are many worthwhile things you can do outside the walls of Hogwarts."

Izar picked at the end of his sleeve, finding it hard not to express his outright disagreement on the subject. "There is something, a reason, why you want me to graduate. I can read you easily," Izar confessed. "There is a reason you want me out of Hogwarts other than the fact that I'm bored."

Regulus chuckled. "I hope you can read others just as well as me." His father leaned forward, trying to peer closely at Izar. "You are old enough to know the reasons I think you should graduate. There is no reason to think you can't handle the truth."

"I'm glad you think so," Izar grinned lightly. He didn't see himself as a child who needed sheltering. Getting used to having a father was a hurdle Izar was still struggling with. Izar _couldn't_ accept some things that came with having a father, and that included coddling.

"I believe that if you graduate Hogwarts, you'll have some claim to independence. With the custody battle with Lily approaching, I think if you have a steady income with the Unspeakables and have graduated from school it will tip the balance in your favor. It couldn't hurt."

It seemed logical and certainly plausible. He didn't know much about custody battles, but if the child had a bit of independence, wouldn't it be in the child's best interest to choose whom he lived with? If Izar graduated this year, he would still be fifteen, a good year before he turned seventeen. There would even be the possibility that Lily wouldn't file for custody, but then why would she go through the trouble of publishing that article in the _Prophet_?

Despite his reluctance to graduate early, Izar knew that it would be in his best interest. Still… he found it hard to believe that Voldemort wanted him to graduate early just for that reason. There had to be another motive behind his insistence that Izar graduate. And Izar didn't know if he would be able to find it out in time.

Izar, realizing he had kept quiet long enough, looked up at Regulus and nodded. "It sounds reasonable. Just do me a favor." He paused, making sure he had Regulus' attention. "Don't presume to hide things from me again."

Regulus' eyes became hooded and a pleased smile crossed his lips. "Never."

**{Death of Today}**

Izar stared at the package on his bed. He could have sworn it hadn't been there a few hours ago.

Lifting his gaze from the package, he eyed the darkening window, noticing the sun was about to sink below the horizon. Tonight's Yuletide celebration would be starting in a matter of minutes and Izar had just stopped by his room to change out of his comfortable jeans and into robes.

It wasn't wrapped as a gift; it looked like a parcel with brown paper and a string tied around it.

He couldn't sense any magic coming from the package. It meant that there weren't any harmful hexes or curses. Nonetheless, Izar kept his wand raised as he reached forward to untie the string. The thick paper fell away from the parcel and he eyed the white material and the gold pocket watch.

Izar dropped his wand, staring at the watch. He picked up the pocket watch, marveling at the weight of pure gold. It wasn't cheap, not in the least. Everything about it was heavy and high-class. He pursed his lips and set it aside for later observation as he grabbed the note on top of the white cloth.

_Child, _

_While I'm not particularly fond of the nature of gift-giving, I couldn't resist the temptation of indulging you. The pocket watch is a replacement for the one you are currently using. The robes, on the other hand, were purchased for my own selfish purposes._

_I believe white is a dreadful and disdainful color. Regrettably, the color of the Light looks far from unsightly on you, my child._

_Wear them tonight. And allow your left hand to breathe. _

It wasn't signed, but it didn't need to be. The beautiful penned calligraphy and the blatant usage of the pet name 'child' was enough of a hint.

Setting the note aside on the bed, he took out the robes. They were similar to the ones Daphne purchased for him for the Yule ball, yet instead of gold accenting them, black took its place. Luckily, with the black present, the robes weren't _all_ white. Riddle had obviously enjoyed the sight he made at the Yule ball enough to purchase the robes for him. It both pleased and troubled him. _Of course_ he was only pleased because someone thought he didn't look like a bloody flop that night. _Not _because Voldemort found him attractive.

He sighed, disgusted with himself, as he allowed the soft material to slip from his fingers and back on the bed.

Taking hold of the pocket watch again, he tilted the face in order to observe the engravings. The carvings were breathtaking. Small details designed the face of the watch, but the main image was that of a broken hourglass. A powerful serpent coiled around the broken hourglass, its fangs embedded in the shattered glass. The serpent's eyes were two rubies, contrasting with the gold. Below the hourglass, a Latin phrase was skillfully engraved.

"_Alea iacta est." _Izar's eyes closed as he whispered the Latin words, his mind racing as he put the phrase in English. "The die has been cast," Izar understood. He opened his eyes, looking back down at the watch. It could mean many things, but Izar knew it meant "a point of no return." It meant that events have passed a point of no return, that something inevitable would happen.

Izar sat on the bed knowing that he held something far more meaningful in his hands than just a pocket watch.

Voldemort was giving him an out.

There was still a chance—a chance of burying things. Izar could become disfavored. He could become a lowly Death Eater and he could sink back into the shadows. No one would go out of their way to attack or insult Izar. And Voldemort would keep his hands to himself. He would never make another sexual advance.

Considering Voldemort had claimed he was too selfish to allow Izar in the shadows, this gift was incredibly rare. Voldemort was giving him something that he would never give again.

A choice.

And Izar _knew _this would be the last time Voldemort would allow Izar to step out of their twisted game. If Izar chose to stay where he was, there was the assertion that Voldemort would become unforgivably harsh in his claims of on Izar. Their game would become fiercer, far more heated and warped than it was currently. Voldemort would never allow Izar to walk away. It was the point of no return.

And…

Izar found himself looking forward to it.

He closed his fingers over the pocket watch, a pleased purr wanting to make itself heard.

While he was thankful that Voldemort was giving him an option, Izar favored this relationship he had with the Dark Lord. He may find the sexual side of it unnerving, and he may not be ready for the physical aspect of their relationship, but he did enjoy having someone as intelligent as himself to speak to; to banter with; to _play _with.

Having such a powerful Dark Lord close to him was thrilling. And Izar would be damned if he let that slip away.

He caressed the pocket watch, eyeing the last sentence of the man's note.

_And allow your left hand to breathe._

Izar snorted. Not bloody likely.

Although he would appease the man by wearing _white _robes, he wasn't going to submit so entirely to the man as to remove his glove. Izar was not going to risk revealing the Celtic band to prying eyes. And while the night would veil his ring from the notice of others, he didn't want Voldemort to think he was going to be readily submissive and take his glove off. He knew Voldemort wanted to see Izar tonight as utterly _bound _to him and belonging to him. Izar wasn't going to satisfy the man's peculiar urges.

He was going to wear his glove to cover up the ring. _And…_

Izar lifted his left sleeve, staring at his newly manipulated Mark. He chuckled, pleased at the outcome of his decision.

He wasn't as subservient as Voldemort believed him to be.

* * *

**{**Nothing much happening in this chapter, but it was needed. Next chapter shouldn't take too long to get out. I hope to post it earlier than a weeks time.**}**


	27. Part I Chapter 27

**{Notes} **No, Izar will_ not_ be showing off the altered Dark Mark. Sorry if I made you think as such in the last chapter. He's going to hide it as long as possible.

Thanks for the reviews last chapter and thanks to _Itallia_ for beta(ing) this horrible and evil chapter.

**WARNINGS: **Dark themes to this chapter with mentions/actions of _**torture**_ and death will arise. There will also be SLASH. For those of you who aren't reading the story for the slash and don't enjoy it, I would suggest squinting when you come to the scene with the Voldemort/Izar.

Enjoy the slashiness in this chapter. It will be the last of it for a while. :) Well, at least in *this* depth.

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

Above, the night sky was clear and the stars and constellations were just as bright as the moon. Izar thought the most beautiful thing about tonight wasn't the sky, but the small balls of light. Every witch and wizard was oblivious to the presence of the spheres but Izar could see them with clarity. There was magic in the atmosphere tonight. It loosened anxieties and washed a wild high through the wizards and witches.

A light smile played on Izar's lips as he stared at the magic in child-like wonder. The small spheres were golden white and about the size of a firefly. The magic seemed to emerge from the ground and float upward, disappearing into the heavens. In all ways, it appeared similar to upside down drizzling rain. Most of the occupants outside were touched by the magic. Although they couldn't see the magic, they were able to feel it in the atmosphere. As the magic ghosted across their skin, pleased smiles and laughter always escaped their lips.

They were getting a feel for what Izar felt all the time with his magic sensitivity, although he was far more controlled and didn't let it affect him anymore.

He supposed he could see the Yuletide's magic because of his recent heightened sensitivity to magic. Never before had he seen the magic on Christmas Eve because it had always been too faint for his underdeveloped ability.

The cold December air stung his face, but it made everything more thrilling. He refused to put a warming charm on his body. The light fever across his neck and face thanked him for the relief.

Regulus touched his arm, urging him forward.

Izar allowed the physical contact, following Regulus. Many of the Death Eaters ahead of them were disappearing into the woods around the Malfoy Manor. Some of their postures were relaxed, yet the majority of the wizards were excited, causing their backs to stiffen.

"You still won't tell me what the celebration is about?" Izar pestered Regulus.

"You'll just have to wait and see." Regulus' lips twitched as he kept his hand on Izar's shoulder. "I am curious, however, to learn where you received those robes." Regulus continued forward as he looked over his shoulder at Izar's white robes. "They are handsome."

"They were a gift," Izar replied shortly.

The hand on his elbow tightened but Regulus remained silent. Izar knew his father wasn't blind or dimwitted. Regulus suspected a relationship between Izar and the Dark Lord no matter how many times the Ravenclaw tried to convince him otherwise. Truthfully, there really _wasn't _a relationship between the two of them, at least not yet. But Regulus would believe whatever he wished to believe. Izar was just worried what Voldemort would do in order to keep his relationship with Izar a secret.

As father and son trudged through the snow, the smell of burning wood grew stronger. Up ahead, Izar spied a large Yule log burning. Many Death Eaters were surrounding it, their voices high and loud, drunk on magic. Their auras convulsed and twitched with their excitement, causing the color of their usual dull magic to turn vibrant.

Izar had trouble tearing his eyes away.

As he approached the group, he spied the extra count of bodies. "Muggles," Izar whispered, his chest tightening. "We are going to torture Muggles?" He didn't know what he felt at the moment. There was a burning excitement, but there was also repugnance. While he despised Muggles, he didn't know if he enjoyed torture. He was indifferent to others torturing the Muggles, but he didn't know if he had the stomach to do it himself.

Killing was another story. He wouldn't mind raising his wand against a Muggle. It would taste _so_ precious…

"In a way, yes." Regulus smiled darkly, a promise of pain.

There were about twenty Muggles, surely not enough for everyone to grab hold of and play with. Izar pondered on the Muggle's presence before he came to a stop with the group of Death Eaters. The Yule log was burning fiercely, the flames a bright orange and purple. Izar longed to reach out and touch it. Observing the close proximity of the Death Eaters to the fire, Izar knew he wasn't the only one who desired to caress the dancing and provocative flames.

Voldemort stood calmly in front of his Death Eaters. He looked halfway decent tonight. Usually, when the man was in his Dark Lord's persona, he was a bit rugged and not particularly well-kept. His hair was typically in an unruly ponytail at the nape of his neck, revealing his sharp features. And his robes were usually simple black. Despite his rugged appearance, Izar always found himself drawn to the man's untamed appearance. Not many people would see a specific beauty to the man, just a rough handsomeness that bordered along… lethal. The sight of the Dark Lord always twisted Izar's stomach into painful and rousing knots.

Tonight, though, the Dark Lord let his hair fall to his shoulders. Izar was amused to note that the Dark Lord had wavy hair. The waves weren't very obvious, but they were there. And the man's robes were of richer black material. The high collar exaggerated his tall height. Izar hated himself for liking the man in a high collar. Not many wizards could pull off such a dramatic look with the high collar, but Voldemort made it look like a simple accessory.

Along with his well-groomed appearance, his magic was just as noticeable tonight. The other Death Eaters seemed to lean toward him, sensing his magic. Usually powerful wizards' and witches' auras were felt faintly by others. It was what drew people to them. And tonight, with magic loose, his power was embellished.

Izar rocked back on his heels, raising his eyebrows as crimson eyes caught his gaze. A conceited smirk crossed the man's lips but his expression cleared as he continued to search the rest of the Death Eaters before him.

"I'm not going to keep you all here for very long," the Dark Lord started. His voice cut through the noise with ease despite the fact that he hadn't shouted. "Most of you know the routine for tonight's celebration. We hunt our prey."

Izar's gaze fell on the kneeling Muggles. Most of them were strong-looking men and women. They were all healthy and coherent. It was almost if the Death Eaters wanted them strong and capable of resisting.

"For those of you, who do not know of our Yuletide tradition, let me enlighten you." Voldemort began again. "Tonight is the Wild Hunt."

The Death Eaters whispered excitingly, their wands out and shaking with excitement. Tonight, their pure-blood masks weren't hindering their real emotions.

"We welcome the upcoming year by hunting our prey and celebrating our past achievements. Only the most worthy wizards will be able to claim a prize." Here, Voldemort's ivory hand motioned toward the struggling Muggles. But his eyes were on Izar, a wicked gleam dancing beneath the depths of crimson at the word "prize." No one noticed. Their attentions were on the Muggles.

Izar glowered.

"This year should be celebrated with high spirits, for, come next Yuletide celebration, we will not have to conceal our Hunt behind trees. And every loyal follower shall receive their own prize."

The Death Eaters roared with excitement. The fire sparked dangerously, heightening the Death Eaters' ecstasy. Izar felt his own grin widen at that. Next year Voldemort planned thrust himself out into the wizarding society. There would be no Malfoy woods to limit their range of celebration.

Next year, the whole country would become their playground.

Voldemort waved his wand, cutting the restraints on the Muggles. The men and women hesitated, like cornered animals, before sprinting out of the clearing and into the depths of the woods. Izar watched one man cut himself off from the group of Muggles. He was a smart Muggle. He wouldn't run with the others because it would draw attention. Izar's eyes grew hungry. No one else seemed to notice the Muggle take almost an opposite turn from the group.

The Death Eaters were swaying on their feet, their eyes desperately begging Voldemort for his consent to hunt. The Muggles in the woods disappeared, gaining a head start.

Voldemort looked all too smug with his hold over his followers.

Bellatrix was at the lead. Her body was positioned similar to that of a sprinter ready to lunge. Izar could relate. He felt his own sense of excitement twist in his chest and stomach. He blamed it on the overwhelming abundance of magic in the air and the excited auras close by.

The Dark Lord took a step back, waving his wand. The Yule log exploded in crimson sparks and hot ashes. Death Eaters cried out in both pain and the excited delight of it all.

"Happy hunting," Voldemort released his followers.

Chaos erupted. Izar was pushed aside roughly as the Death Eaters sprinted around him and into the woods. The small Ravenclaw parted with Regulus as he took an opposite route than the other Death Eaters. As he parted ways, the hairs on the back of his neck stood when he heard the Dark Lord's parting words.

"I know I'll enjoy it."

It was a whispered promise and Izar felt the crimson eyes follow his back.

He ran.

In the subconscious part of his mind, he knew running was the most dangerous thing he could have done. He was doing exactly what Voldemort wanted him to do. But he couldn't bring himself to care as he ran after the Muggle man. With the image of a Dark Lord stalking after him in the dark, Izar was able to push his legs quicker.

His eyes had trouble focusing on the woods in front of him when he was distracted with the spheres of magic. He didn't know if he was running in the right direction. The Muggle had disappeared fully from his sight, but Izar pushed himself through the trees and snow. His long robes tangled in his legs, but he skillfully avoided any face-plants into the snow.

With adrenaline roaring through his veins, it only felt like seconds before he came within sight of the broad-shouldered Muggle. But judging from the quick breathing coming from his mouth, he concluded that it had been a good handful of minutes he had been running.

The trees were growing thicker, more mature. It took more effort to zigzag through the expansive tree trunks, especially when he had to trudge through the snow. The cold temperature outside clashed with the temperature coming out of his panting mouth, causing his breath to come out in visible clouds. The cold air burned at his fevered face, cooling it before it turned warm from the frosty bite.

He was lightheaded and dizzy from the stress he was putting his body through in its ill state. But he couldn't find it in himself to stop. The magic around him gave him strength to continue, despite his burning body.

In the distance, he could hear screaming. It wasn't a frightened scream, no: it was a scream that told Izar that the Death Eaters had captured some of their prey. He had never heard a man screaming so desperately. When it was coming from a Muggle, he found a certain gorgeousness in the tenor.

"_Izar…" _

He slowed. The Muggle was still a good few yards away when Izar heard the voice.

He first thought it was Voldemort, whispering from the depths of the woods. But the voice sounded nothing like the Dark Lord. Izar frowned, peering deeper in the woods. With the aid of the spheres of magic, Izar could faintly see a shadowed form of a man. In less than seconds, it was gone, making Izar realize that it was just a silhouette of a tree trunk. He hissed, annoyed with himself. Since when did he become so paranoid?

He breathed deeply, continuing his run.

He didn't get very far.

Arms enclosed around him and his feet were lifted cleanly off the snow covered ground. "In where the predator becomes the prey," a voice mused darkly in his ear.

Both the words and the tone went straight to his groin. Izar hissed, hating himself for that. He struggled against the binding arms, rearing his head back. "You are interrupting me—"

He was roughly cut off as he was pushed fiercely into a nearby tree trunk. He blinked, trying to regain his bearings as black dots danced across his vision. When he finally regained his balance, Voldemort was nowhere in sight. He could hear the dark chuckle coming from behind him as the Dark Lord circled him.

Voldemort then prowled before Izar, looking up and down his frame before disappearing back around the tree. "I see you've accepted."

Accepted? Izar assumed the man was speaking about the choice he had offered Izar this evening; the choice to step out of this…relationship with Voldemort and turn his back on it all, or to continue. Izar gave a silly grin, tipping back his head to stare at the naked branches of the tree. "And you knew, before I was even given the choice, which I would choose," he accused lightly.

"You would be disappointed in me if I _didn't _know you well enough to foresee your decision."

The voice sounded as if it came from his left ear. He turned, not surprised when Voldemort wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Nonetheless, it was still a choice I gave you, no?" the man purred.

Within seconds, his left hand was grabbed and his fingerless glove was pulled cleanly off his wrist. Izar hissed, seeing red. He curled his naked fingers into his sleeve, not giving the Dark Lord the pleasure of seeing the Celtic band on his finger. The man was still playing in the shadows when Izar turned. Thanks to the heavy Yuletide magic in the air, he couldn't see the exact location of the Dark Lord.

"The choices you give me don't seem genuine when you keep me on the short leash you favor." He hated this. By wearing his fingerless glove tonight, he was giving himself some equality with Voldemort. And now it was gone.

He breathed deeply to calm himself. At least he had the knowledge that he had manipulated the Dark Mark. And that's what gave him the patience to continue standing there like a calm adult. Otherwise, he would have stamped his foot and hissed out insults to the man before storming away.

"And yet," Voldemort murmured as he stepped from the shadows, "you knew the consequences of coming tonight, dressed in the robes I gave you. You knew the 'leash' around your throat would shorten the moment you accepted the _alea iacta est_." The man cocked his head and a mockingly concerned expression marred the cruel handsomeness. "Unless, of course, you didn't put two and two together—"

"Of course I did," Izar seethed. "You think me an idiot?"

Voldemort lost his mocking concern and offered a cold, lipless smile. Distant screams from the Muggles made his expression a lot more chilling than it should have been. "An idiot?" Voldemort whispered. "Of course not. But I think you are naïve, and oblivious to what you think you're getting yourself into with me." The man paused to consider Izar through lowered lids. "But you cannot turn back, not now. It is too late, I'm afraid."

Izar remained silent. Perhaps he _was_ naïve to think it would be beneficial to continue his relationship with the Dark Lord. Perhaps he didn't even know the extent of Voldemort's cruelty, but it was what Izar wanted. He thought he may have inherited some of the Black insanity because he _wanted _that cruelness the Dark Lord had to offer; he wanted to exploit it and use it for himself. Izar supposed he would need to get used to the man's overwhelming dominance. But that didn't mean Izar had to take it lying down on his belly.

Voldemort took an agonizingly slow step forward. Spidery fingers reached forward and brushed across Izar's jaw. "You look delicious," the man intoned softly, almost inaudibly. Before Izar could respond to the touch and the words, the cold fingers left his jaw and the man turned his heel. "Stay."

Blinking, he watched the black form disappear entirely from view. Izar played with the idea of leaving, but decided against it. Instead, he leaned against the tree trunk and waited for the Dark Lord to come back.

It must have been only a few seconds before Voldemort strolled back. Izar straightened up, blinking when he caught sight of the Muggle in Voldemort's arms. Izar wasn't even going to consider how the man had caught the Muggle so quickly. Instead, he watched as the Dark Lord dropped the broad-shouldered man at Izar's feet, looking oddly pleased with himself.

Not being able to stop himself, Izar laughed quietly. In all ways, Voldemort looked like a dog dropping a prize at his master's feet. He didn't dare voice his opinion on that, especially when he caught sight of the emotion behind Voldemort's eyes. The man was… lustful, and there were sinister shadows dancing within the crimson eyes.

"I want to see you have fun," Voldemort breathed lustfully. The Dark Lord lifted his lip, revealing white teeth that all but glowed in the dim lighting.

"I don't torture," Izar replied stubbornly. It was better to admit to the Dark Lord _now_, rather than later,that he didn't prefer torture. The Muggle at his feet was magically bound, but his eyes revealed his relief at Izar's words.

Pity Izar wasn't against killing.

Crimson eyes gleamed as the Dark Lord stepped closer to Izar. "Is that because you refuse to torture or because you don't know how?" The man reached out to ghost his fingers across Izar's jaw. At Izar's glower, Voldemort smirked. "Then you'll do it for me."

"One spell," Izar concurred. "I will cast one spell that kills him, but it could count as a torture spell."

Voldemort looked down his nose at the Muggle. Izar could see the Dark Lord was itching to torture the man himself. He could only _imagine _Voldemort's torture. Izar considered allowing Voldemort to have the Muggle himself, but Izar had been the one to chase after his prize. _He _wanted to kill the Muggle.

"Such a waste," Voldemort murmured. "However, if you make it worthwhile, I will step aside and allow it." Voldemort moved silently behind Izar, placing his mouth near the Ravenclaw's ear. "Make it painful. Make him _scream_." A tongue ventured out and licked the side of his neck.

Izar couldn't stop his body from shaking in pleasure at the man's tone. There was something intoxicating about the Dark Lord, something that made Izar crave anything he could get from the man. And feeling the man's excited and aroused aura was overwhelming.

Izar crouched near the Muggle, raising his lip in disgust.

"You're just a boy…" the man whispered.

Izar clenched his jaw, trying to remain calm. It was the _wrong _thing to say… and the wrong assumption. Izar tisked, reaching out to touch the Muggle's face. He held the man's jaw as he traced his wand down the Muggle's face. "'Desperation is sometimes as powerful an inspirer as genius,'" he quoted softly as he stared into the desperate eyes of the Muggle. His wand pressed into the Muggle's cheek before he drew back and stood.

At his back, Voldemort wrapped his long fingers around Izar's neck, almost choking him. "Do it," Voldemort whispered huskily in his ear.

"Not yet," Izar murmured back, ignoring the tight grip on his neck. As he dropped his wand to his side he watched as hope flickered across the Muggle man's eyes. Izar smiled, bathing in the emotion of hope. This was what he had been waiting for. He wanted the Muggle man to have high spirits before he dropped his curse on him. There was always something satisfying about shattering someone's hopes.

Waving his wand, Izar magically ripped the man's shirt. The Muggle's nude skin rippled with goose bumps as it touched the cold air. The man grunted, frightened. Izar smiled coolly before bringing his wand in a tight half-wave. "_Interstringo statumen_."

Because Izar cut off the man's shirt, he was able to see his spell in action. The man tipped back his neck and screamed as his ribs stretched and broke off from the sternum. Izar eyed the ribs as they rose underneath the skin, looking ready to pierce through as they were pried apart. Before long, they _did _pierce through the skin. With ease, the ribs broke through the tissue and muscle, and blood began to stain the man's body and the snow underneath him.

Voldemort hissed in praise as he recognized the spell. An arm snaked around Izar's waist, clutching his hip possessively.

Izar waved his wand again, making the magical binds disappear. He wanted to watch the man struggle. If he was bound, it wouldn't be as much fun.

The Muggle arched, his face beginning to moisten with sweat and tears. His screams had died down to pathetic whimpers once his ribs were fully out of his chest and poised above. The scene resembled a large cooked turkey sitting at the feast table with all the meat generously taken off. If Izar looked closely enough, he could see the lungs and a bit of the heart, though he averted his eyes, not particularly inclined to see such gore. He was doing this curse for the Dark Lord, not for himself. Izar just enjoyed the Muggle's suffering.

Just as the Muggle thought the spell would be complete, the ribs arched one last time before diving back in on the chest. They pierced through the lungs and the heart, similar to sharp jaws sinking into their prey. The man screamed before he was choked by his own blood bubbling out of his mouth.

Izar turned away, his stomach a bit weak.

The blood and gore were immediately erased from his mind once cool lips pressed into his. Izar's neck was still clutched by Voldemort's tightening hand. If he wanted to pull away from the Dark Lord, he wouldn't be able to.

But whoever said he _wanted _to pull away?

With the Muggle's suffering gasps coming to a halt, Izar was pushed against the tree and lifted off the ground and above Voldemort by a single hand. His legs automatically wrapped around Voldemort's waist to gain a bit of control and balance in their position. The hand around his neck loosened before his cheek was taken captive by the cool palm. The kiss… it was far more graceful than the one Izar initiated yesterday. No… graceful was the wrong word for it. It was burning, possessive, and dominating, but also poised.

Izar pulled away, breathing unevenly. Trying to steady his spinning vision, he leaned his head against the tree, looking down at Voldemort's clouded expression. The Dark Lord wasn't out of breath like Izar was. In fact, not a _hair _was out of place as he gazed predatorily up at him.

Narrowing his eyes, Izar reached out and curled his fingers around Voldemort's hair, pulling at it. Crimson eyes became hooded with pleasure as the man stepped closer to Izar, pushing their bodies flush against one another. Hot breath tickled Izar's face and he tried to keep from shuddering. He was so dizzy and ill. His fever was just as hot as his aroused stomach. He ignored his illness, wanting to feel all Voldemort had to offer.

Yanking at Riddle's hair, Izar crushed their lips together. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he was going too fast with Voldemort. He was initiating something dangerous. But he was too dizzy to think straight. _And _he was enjoying this all too much.

Voldemort's tongue traced Izar's bottom lip before forcing itself in his mouth. The man claimed every inch of Izar's mouth brutally. And then Izar felt the hard evidence of Voldemort's arousal pressing against his own groin. Izar ripped his lips away from Voldemort, unable to escape the lips as Voldemort continued to suck and bite his neck. The erection pushing against his robes was so thick and warm. Izar issued a breathless moan, frightened and eager.

"Don't make noises like that, child," Voldemort scolded briskly. His hips thrust into Izar, making the younger wizard dizzy with it all. "I find it hard enough to control myself when you are docile."

"I am _not _docile," Izar hissed, his fingers curling into claws at Voldemort's back. As he inhaled the cool air, he found his mind clearing.

He turned his head away as Voldemort came at his lips again. The Dark Lord gave a threatening hiss before grabbing Izar's chin roughly, turning him around and claiming his lips. Teeth pierced his bottom lip and Izar reared his head back in pain. His fingers unhooked themselves from Voldemort's back before ghosting across the man's neck and settling on the gaunt cheeks.

Boldly, he scratched his nails down the older man's cheeks. Skin ripped and liquid stained underneath his fingernails. He bit the tongue in his mouth, drawing just as much blood from Voldemort as the man had drawn from him.

Voldemort growled.

"Stop," Izar whispered, swallowing the iron taste of blood. He pushed Voldemort's chest with his palms, knowing that if Voldemort continued, the Dark Lord wouldn't stop despite his claims that he wouldn't take Izar as of yet. "_Stop_," Izar spoke assertively as he turned his body away from the Dark Lord. "I'm not ready for this."

Surprisingly, Voldemort released his hold on Izar and dropped him to the ground without a taunting word. Before Izar could fall on the ground, he balanced himself against the tree. He took a few calming breaths before straightening up and meeting the crimson eyes. They burned fiercely as they met his own. Voldemort's eyes showed a piece of his creature side, the side that had most likely pinned Izar against the tree.

Izar's lips twitched in superiority as he eyed the vertical cuts claiming the Dark Lord's cheeks. _He _had marked the Dark Lord.

"Don't get too pleased until you have seen your own appearance," Voldemort drawled smugly, his hair a mess from Izar's insistent pulling. The man backed away, placing distance between them in order to gather his cool confidence once again.

Izar's knees shook but his robes hid the evidence from the other man. He inhaled, closing his eyes.

"Happy New Year, my child."

Charcoal-green eyes snapped open. It wasn't a surprise that he was alone with a Muggle corpse and an abandoned fingerless glove in the snow.

**{Death of Today}**

He leaned against the cool window of the train. The train shook and Izar was almost lulled into a deep slumber. The only thing keeping him awake and aware were the silver eyes watching him.

Winter break had passed quickly and the spring term was beginning at Hogwarts. Izar was heading back with a new trunk and a new wardrobe. Regulus had spoiled him this Christmas in terms of gifts. The man passed it off as nothing as he continued to tailor new robes, shirts, and pants for Izar. Even Izar's previously torn Muggle sneakers were replaced with leather trainers.

The one gift Izar couldn't help admiring was the ring on his finger. Luckily, the Black family ring sat on his right ring finger and was not required to be on his left hand where he wore the fingerless glove to hide the Celtic band. Regulus had been hesitant to give the ring to Izar this holiday. He didn't want to pressure Izar into accepting their bond, but Izar had reassured Regulus that he would be proud to wear it.

Izar eyed the ring, enjoying the sight. He finally belonged somewhere. He was no longer a part of the Muggle world. And Izar couldn't help but compare the immense freedom and pride of the Black ring to the constricting and oppressive Celtic band.

"Is there something you would like to address?" Izar drawled, not looking up at Draco.

The blond boy was remaining stubbornly silent. No words had been spoken between the two wizards since the first day of the holidays. Izar was sure it was his rejection that had quieted the usual chatty Malfoy heir. He felt no remorse for what he had done or said. It was better that _he_ push Draco down now rather than Voldemort doing it later.

"Just wondering if you had noticed Greengrass' avoidance," Draco murmured coolly. "Or were you too busy admiring that ring on your finger?"

Izar issued a sigh, finally turning to look at the boy. "Malfoy, if you find my presence boring, go find your friends and chat over Chocolate Frogs and Liquorice Wands. I have no inclination to analyze Daphne's avoidance, nor do I _care_." He sat back against the seat of the compartment, irritated.

He had noticed Daphne's stand-offish attitude towards him as he boarded the Hogwarts Express. She had given him a cool stare before she turned her heel and entered a compartment with other Slytherin students. Wanting to be alone anyway, Izar found his own compartment before being joined by Draco.

Draco stood up, looking the role of a cool pure-blood. He advanced closer to Izar, smirking. "You refused her father's act of proposal. She's obviously peeved."

Izar's jaw clenched and he refrained from closing his eyes in exasperation. Why was it that the longer he spent time with Regulus and Voldemort, the more he found himself unable to tolerate being in the proximity of people his own age? Dealing with the other students again made him realize that graduating early may be for the better.

"Draco, I don't care," Izar repeated before turning to look back out at the window.

"And you have no reason to care," the boy stated confidently as he sat down next to Izar. "She'll get over it eventually, I'm sure."

"Just as you will get over my rejection and not pretend it never happened?" Izar replied sweetly, giving the boy a stare. "I know you. You're acting as if it never happened."

Draco's face darkened and he leaned closer to Izar. "What would you like me to do? Mope around miserably?" A blond eyebrow perked upward. "I have your attention. And that's all that matters. For now." Draco leaned backward in his seat, sniffing superiorly.

Izar continued to stare at the Malfoy heir, who preferred to turn a blind eye to Izar's examination. Hopefully Draco wouldn't do anything reckless and foolish. In the past, Draco seemed to do foolish things just to get attention, just to get something he wanted. It was a purely childish thing to do, especially when Draco didn't know he was playing against the Dark Lord Voldemort. And Izar was certain Riddle wouldn't stand by passively the second time Draco pressed forward.

Touching a finger to his lips, he remembered staring at himself in the mirror the night after the Yuletide celebration. His hair had been in disarray and his lips had been both bloodied and swollen. It had given him a sort of thrill, seeing himself like that. But it also disgusted him to know he had bent so far for the Dark Lord.

"Ready for the Second Task?" Draco questioned.

Izar tore his hand away from his lips, shaking himself from his musings. "Of course," he commented dryly before turning back to the window. "The Second Task is just dueling."

"But aren't you worried that your dueling style will be recognized? I mean, what if an Auror or Ministry member watches you tomorrow and then notices a Death Eater on the battlefield with the same dueling style? You _do _have a distinctive style." Draco smiled cruelly and stood up. "And your invented spells. That was the reason you won the duel against Aunt Bellatrix. I know you wouldn't want to show off your invented spells to the crowd of spectators, would you?"

Izar's eyes narrowed into slits as they watched the Malfoy heir back up. "What are you playing at, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged lightly. "I'm just concerned," he whispered. His tone suggested that he wasn't concerned in the least. In fact, he sounded smug as he played with Izar's emotions. "Good luck, Izar." With that, the blond boy left the compartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

Izar continued to stare at the frosty glass door before he realized what Draco was trying to accomplish. He leaned back, chuckling. The boy was attempting to play _mind games _with him. It was somewhat amusing. Draco was trying to prove himself worthy of Izar's attentions. Sadly, the boy didn't hold a flame to the Dark Lord. And Izar had a hunch that if he returned the mind games with Draco, the boy wouldn't come out of it sane.

He played with the notion of teaching Draco a lesson. It was a possibility, but at the moment, Izar had other pressing topics to think about.

Even if Draco was just trying to press Izar's buttons, the boy did have a valid point. His dueling style _was _distinctive. Izar would be on display for many spectators tomorrow at the Second Task. Would they recognize his dueling if he was on the Death Eater's side, donned with a mask? He knew he wanted to remain an Unspeakable with the Ministry for a very long time, but if he was discovered to be supporting a Dark Lord, his career would be in shambles.

He pursed his lips.

"_Izar…" _

Charcoal-green eyes flashed toward the door, eyeing the shadowed figure on the other side. His migraine grew stronger as he stood up and approached the door. Quickly, he slid the door aside, stiffening when he saw no one on the other side. Instead, a rush of cool air hit his face, raising goose bumps across his neck and back.

Izar's hands grasped the door tightly, his knuckles turning white. Slamming the door shut, he fell to his knees, shuddering from the fever racing across his body.

He closed his eyes and tried to put himself back together. All the while, his mind raced with possibilities. The night at the Yuletide celebration, he had heard and seen the same thing. That night, he thought it had been his imagination. But what had just transpired made him think it wasn't his imagination.

When the burning on his face became almost unbearable, he took out his wand and cast a nonverbal spell to see his reflection. Leaning closer to the spelled mirror, Izar's eyes dilated when he caught sight of the red marks on both his cheeks.

Each red mark was in the shape of a hand print.

**{Death of Today} **

The incident on the train was pushed to the back of Izar's mind as soon as he arrived at Hogwarts, and even more so when he stood in his Champion robes on the day of the Second Task.

The Champions were ushered onto the Quidditch Pitch, except the pitch had been transfigured into something entirely different today. It was resembled a giant fish tank full of murky water, which reached a depth where diving from remarkable heights wouldn't cause injury. In the center of the pitch, floating above the water, was a wide stone platform. It rose several meters into the air, coming eye-level with the spectators in the stands.

The stone dais was obviously the dueling platform. Judging from the visible aura Izar could see around the stone, he decided that there was more to it than just a simple platform, though he couldn't figure out what, exactly, the magic was being used for.

Izar looked down on the floating dock that he, the other champions, and the judges stood upon. The dock was floating right out of reach of the calm water, and was dwarfed by the large stone platform. Izar knew the dock would be the transportation unit to bring the duelers up to the platform.

The crowd in the stands was larger than in any Quidditch match Izar had the _pleasure _of seeing in his first years. Their faces weren't very distinguishable from where he stood, but he knew as soon as he stood on the dueling platform that he would be able to see some of them quite clearly.

Off to the side, a screen-like canvas stood. It was the same device the judges used for the First Task. On the screen, a large timer was displayed, as well as pictures of the three Champions. They were ordered by score. Izar looked sourly at his picture at the bottom. He currently had seventy points. Cyprien was at the top with eighty-five and Lukas was in the middle with eighty points.

Dumbledore cast a _Sonorus _on his throat. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Let us quickly explain the rules and expectations before we begin."

The crowd quieted as they looked down at the Champions and the judges.

Izar eyed the tall politician beside him. Riddle stood lazily, almost as if he didn't notice the floor beneath his feet was moving.

"The Second Task is simply dueling, with a few obstacles, of course." Dumbledore waved a hand at the circular platform above. Izar craned his neck to look up at it. "With each minute a duel continues, both Champions will be awarded a point. If a Champion is thrown off the platform and into the water, they will cease gaining points and the duel will be over."

Izar grimaced. He wasn't especially frightened of heights, he just wasn't inclined to be thrown off the platform into the watery depths below. But someone would need to make a splash for the duel to end.

"If the winner maintains hold of their wand when the duel ends, he is awarded four extra points. However, if the winner loses his wand in the midst of the duel, then he will only be awarded two extra points." Dumbledore paused in order to let the information sink in.

Ideally, just as Dumbledore had stated, it was best to disarm and win with your wand in hand. Izar imagined that if a Champion dropped their wand or was disarmed, but remained standing on the platform before their opponent touched the water first, they were awarded two points.

"There are ways to make up for lost points," Dumbledore continued, speaking mainly to the three Champions on the dock with him. "However, you can only participate in gaining more points if you are still standing on the platform without your wand at the end of the duel. With each thirty seconds that pass, the Champion in question is awarded five points for successfully staying on the platform."

Izar frowned. There had to be a catch, otherwise the Champions would try to lose their wands in the midst of the duel in order to gain more points. Five points awarded for each thirty seconds standing on the platform?

"Sound easy?" Dumbledore chuckled before flicking his wand to the circular platform.

With a moan, the stone began to move. The circular platform started off rocking back and forth at a decent pace. But as time past, it started to tip from all angles and drop in height before shooting back up. It made Izar's stomach weak just imagining himself trying to balance without his wand.

Dumbledore continued. "The platform will also begin to move if both Champions are still dueling at the five minute mark. In this case, they shall have to contend not only with their opponent, but with their environment."

Next to Izar, Cyprien Beaumont nodded confidently, his fingers flexing around his wand. Lukas Steinar, on the other hand, whispered with his father, eyeing the platform in barely hidden fear. The boy was afraid of heights. Izar could use that to his advantage.

"I expect you to win this Task," a breathless order was whispered in his ear. "You _will_ be in first place by the end of the dueling matches."

Izar's eye twitched at the order. He turned to look at the man's charmed brown eyes through the cheater glasses. Riddle looked entirely serious and unsympathetic. No encouragement was seen in the man's expression, nothing but a cold order twisted the man's lips.

"You couldn't have told me sooner?" he murmured back.

Riddle arched an eyebrow. "You should expect to win every Task, Izar. This one is just _needed, _especially after the outcome of the First Task."

Izar turned his shoulder sharply on the man, feeling his chest tighten. The man was hiding something yet again. Whenever it came to the Triwizard Tournament, Voldemort was tight-lipped and he tiptoed around Izar. There was a reason Izar was being pressured into winning this Task and not the others. The poisoning from the First Task, Daphne's attack, and everything in between was anticipated by the Dark Lord. The man _knew _what was transpiring, yet he kept quiet.

Looking back on his past actions, Izar was grateful he had gone to Sirius for help in dueling. Otherwise, this Task would be deemed impossible.

"The first and third place Champions will start us off," Dumbledore concluded merrily before canceling the _Sonorus. _"Good luck to you all." Blue eyes twinkled as he patted the three Champions on their shoulders before ushering the dock up to the stands.

Izar watched bitterly as the judges and Lukas stepped off the dock. He avoided Riddle's stare, wondering why he found the man appealing. It was times like _this_ that Izar wanted to gouge the man's eyes out.

Suddenly, the dock twitched and began rising once again up to the stone platform in the middle of the pitch. Izar regained his balance and watched as the dock inched closer to the stands and the circular dueling platform. Both Cyprien and Izar were gaining in height and the Ravenclaw tried not to look down.

It seemed all too soon when the dock came to rest beside the stone dueling platform. The redheaded Champion and Izar shared a look, both uncertain about stepping onto the stone platform.

Izar lifted his chin and stepped off the dock. The stone underneath his feet was sturdy, almost as if it was anchored surely on solid ground. If he hadn't seen the setup of the Task before hand, he would have never known that the platform was suspended above murky waters without any anchors but magic holding it up. Shrugging to himself, he looked down, off the side of the dueling ring, and into the waters below. It was a far fall. His stomach knotted just thinking about falling down into the water below.

If he won his duels like Riddle expected him to, Izar wouldn't _have _to fall.

Cyprien followed Izar, walking to the opposite side of the platform. The dock that had transported them up to the dueling stone zoomed away, back to the water beneath them. Izar refused to watch its descent.

Izar found himself eyeing the roaring crowd. Because the professors' box sat directly to his right, he could see Regulus clearly. His father was sitting near Severus Snape and Sirius Black with the rest of the adults. Regulus nodded toward Izar, a comforting smile stretching across his face. Regulus' eyes nonchalantly turned to the right before quickly looking back at Izar.

Frowning, Izar turned to see what had caught his father's attention.

"Bow to your opponent," Dumbledore's voice boomed from below.

Lily and James Potter were sitting in the stands.

* * *

**Scoring: **

**Disarming:** With wand in hand= 4 points awarded

*Without wand= 2 points awarded

**Dueling**: Each minute dueling= 1 point awarded

**After Disarming:** Every thirty seconds on platform= 5 points awarded

**{Notes**: I know it is difficult to picture the setup to the Task. I had _a lot _of trouble describing it in words. It isn't really that important. Just know it's a big fall from the dueling platform to the waters below. And the platform is suspended in midair by only magic… like a flying carpet- but it's larger and made of stone. If that helps any? I'm not really going to concern myself over the setup. It's the duels that are important**.}**


	28. Part I Chapter 28

**{Notes} **Thanks for the reviews last chapter.

As for _this _chapter, if you don't like dueling, then you won't like this chapter, because that's _all _that's in here. Dueling. And more dueling.

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

The last time he had seen Lily Potter was at the Department of Mysteries, near the Veil.

She appeared similar to what Izar remembered her as. Yet, it seemed as if she washed her hair today and her skin had more color splashed about her cheeks. There was a healthy flush to her face and her vibrant red hair was tied at the nape of her neck. She was still frail and haunted, her eyes, especially, mirrored the inner demons she harbored inside her. She wasn't wearing her customary heavy black robes. Instead, she had on ivory robes with a bit of crimson accenting them.

Izar would have thought she would be holding on to James Potter for support or comfort. However, the woman was sitting straight on the bench, appearing confident by keeping her hands curled neatly in her lap. Seeing her in daylight like this, Izar believed he was glimpsing at the woman his father had fallen in love with. Despite Dumbledore's hold on her, Izar knew Lily Potter wasn't a woman to underestimate. She carried her own piece of Slytherin underneath her Gryffindor armor.

Quickly glancing at James Potter, Izar noted the shock of messy black hair and glasses. Luckily, the man hadn't worn his Auror robes today and opted to wear a simple shirt and a pair of slacks that showed off his tall and extremely thin stature.

Avoiding both their gazes, Izar tried to focus on his duel and past his burning fury.

Stiffly, he bowed to Cyprien before he took the customary steps to his end of the platform. Rolling his wand between his clammy fingers, Izar turned gracefully, poising his wand above his head in a dueling stance.

He didn't understand the emotions racing through him. It was best _not _to identify and understand those emotions, especially at a time like this, but it was impossible. His mind was in turmoil, both with rage and uncertainty. The rage was present because he couldn't believe Lily and James had the audacity to show their faces here at the Second Task. And the uncertainty rushing through his stomach was simply because he didn't believe he was prepared enough for this Task.

"Three," Dumbledore's voice boomed from the second set of stands below.

The crowd screamed.

"Two," Dumbledore counted down.

Izar's fingers became wet with sweat. He licked his lips, hating himself for being so full of anxiety. A year ago, silly emotions like anxiety weren't even on his radar let alone distracting him from important tasks.

"One."

Cyprien was an offensive dueler. The redheaded Beauxbatons Champion wasted no time in throwing a disarming charm. Izar stayed rooted in place, watching the colored magic fly toward him with intention to knock him off his feet.

With his heart in his throat, Izar spun, dodging the charm as it burned past his shoulder. Above Cyprien's head, Izar watched the large timer on the screen-like canvas start to run.

_Get your head into the duel… idiot, _he scolded himself harshly. He felt like he wasn't here. There were too many things running through his mind. What did Sirius say? What had his uncle told him during their lessons to help stop _thinking _and start cursing? Izar froze once more before doing what any First year would do with a wand in hand.

Izar flicked his wand out, calling forward a nonverbal disarming charm from his wand. It flew toward Cyprien, missing the boy by a good foot. His spell raced toward the stands of spectators, but it hit a solid shield before it could come in contact with any of the students and other adults.

Desperation turned his stomach cold as he was struck in the arm by a spell he hadn't seen coming. His wand flew from his hand and into the water depths below. Izar swallowed his bile as he looked up into the bemused eyes of Cyprien. The redhead hesitated briefly before pushing his wand toward Izar. A current of wind took him around the waist and threw him backward. Only, he didn't hit the stone platform, he continued to fall.

Tipping back his neck, he gave a cry of frustration as he fell toward the waters below. The stands of spectators were just as loud as Izar's cry as they witnessed the conclusion of the duel.

The fall was quicker than he suspected and he was thrust into the cool waters. Before his head was submerged, he caught sight of the timer on the screen-like canvas. Thirty-five seconds. The judges would likely round the time up to a minute.

As his body was submerged under the water, he wondered if he would be awarded at least a _bloody _point. Unfortunately, Cyprien would be awarded four more points for disarming him.

For early January, it was expected that the water would be chilly. It froze him to the bone and he allowed his body to sink deeper. He didn't even try to kick to the surface as he held his breath in his lungs. There was something incredibly peaceful about being deaf and blind to the world above him. Izar suspected death was something similar to the sensation he was experiencing; a peaceful oblivion, an eternity of peace and sleep.

A grim smile curled his lips as he started to run out of oxygen. Suicide never crossed his mind before and he considered himself too proud to consider committing the act. However, even Izar couldn't deny the temptation of leaving everything behind for an unlimited time of sleep.

Above, on the surface of the water, Izar could see the floating dock come to a stop. Two forms dived into the water, swimming toward him with their crimson robes trailing behind them. From their robes, Izar knew they were the Healers of the Tournament.

He supposed he had sulked in self-pity long enough. Throwing the dark, suicidal thoughts behind him, Izar kicked his legs. His body cut through the water as he swam toward the surface. Shaking off the hold of one of the Healers who had reached for his arm, Izar swam to the surface by himself.

Breaking the surface, his ears were assaulted with the loud volume of the crowd. He didn't try to discern who they were yelling at or for. Instead, he grabbed a hold of the hand that belonged to the third Healer on the floating dock. The crimson-robed Healer hauled him up, instantly casting a drying charm over his soaking robes. As soon as he was dry, a heavy and warm robe was tossed his way. Izar pulled it on, noticing a heating charm was cast on it.

Izar sat on the dock, pulling the hood over his face as the dock began to move. "Your wand, Mr. Harrison," a voice murmured next to his ear.

Charcoal-green eyes turned, eyeing the Healer who had Izar's wand in his hand. "It's Mr. Black," Izar corrected coldly as he accepted his wand back. "Thanks," he murmured. He really didn't know what he felt about carrying the Black family name after such a pathetic duel.

He was sure Regulus was appalled. Sirius, too. His uncle had spent a good term teaching him dueling strategies. And Izar couldn't even imagine what the Dark Lord was thinking.

Once the dock floated toward the stands, he was ushered up to the Hogwarts' box. No one was inside the box but Dumbledore and Riddle. There was five minutes in between each duel and Izar was just happy he had Dumbledore in proximity as a buffer between the Dark Lord and himself.

The Healers abandoned him and Izar calmly walked to the end of the box. Riddle stood stiffly at the opposite end as Dumbledore, avoiding eye contact with Izar. The Dark Lord kept his arms folded across his chest, proof of his frigid opinion on Izar's duel. On the other side of the box, Dumbledore offered a kind smile, but Izar ignored it in favor of sitting down on the bleachers.

Bitterly, he looked at the score. Cyprien had ninety points, Lukas still had eighty, and Izar had a pitiful seventy one. It was impossible to win the Second Task.

He eyed the Dark Lord at the side. The politician calmly stood at the edge of the stands in their box, looking out at the dueling course. The Hogwarts box was situated right behind the dueling platform. It had been at Izar's back during the duel and he was glad for small favors. He didn't have to see the Dark Lord's expression when he had fallen. The man's expression certainty would have been just as chilly as the water.

Back on the stone platform Cyprien was currently being taken down and ushered to the Beauxbaton box.

"A five minute intermission will take place," Dumbledore suddenly spoke up with his wand to his throat. His voice boomed across the entire pitch. "Lukas Steinar of Durmstrang and Cyprien Beaumont of Beauxbatons will be the next Champions dueling."

Izar pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he felt someone's aura approach him from behind. It was similar to Regulus' aura, but Izar knew there was a slight difference with the one he was currently feeling.

"Tough luck, kid." Sirius patted him on the back before sitting down next to him.

Both Dumbledore and Riddle turned as they heard the newcomer's voice. Riddle lifted his lip before turning back to the stands. Dumbledore, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows over his glasses. "Sirius, I'm afraid this box is only for Champions and the judges of Hogwarts."

Before Izar could heatedly defend Sirius, for reasons unknown to him, his uncle beat him to it. With an arm slung around Izar's shoulders, Sirius gave a humored chuckle. "There is nothing that can get between a Master and his student, Albus. I believe he needs reassurance. You want Hogwarts to win, don't you?" Sirius leveled Dumbledore with the same skeptical look the old man was giving him.

The Headmaster's lips twitched before he turned a blind eye to the two Blacks.

Izar glowered at Sirius. "There is nothing to say," Izar murmured. "It was a pathetic display of the art of dueling."

Sirius' eyebrows heightened. "Oh, it was," the man agreed. "I won't deny that. A 'pathetic display' is actually going a bit light to what it actually was, or… what I forced myself to watch through the crack of my fingers." Sirius threw a ruthless grin toward his nephew, his goatee creasking with the wrinkles around his mouth.

Izar turned away from Sirius, angry. "Then why did you come over here?" He questioned, irritated. "You _reassurance _is heartfelt, really, I can sense the encouragement coming from you in waves," he spoke dryly. Did the man truly think this was reassuring? Izar was already beyond angry with himself. Sirius' words were true, Izar admitted, but he didn't need Sirius to harp on him anymore than what Izar was already doing to himself.

Sirius sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I made Regulus stay behind because I wanted to talk to you privately." Here, Sirius' dark grey eyes assessed Dumbledore and Riddle distastefully. The two powerful wizards appeared disinterested, but even Sirius knew they were listening. Sirius turned back to Izar, tapping the Ravenclaw's temple with his fingers. "You were thinking too much, weren't you?"

Izar issued a cool shrug. "I reverted back to my old habits, I suppose. I couldn't keep my mind focused."

Sirius nodded as if he had already known that before the duel had even started. "You were distracted," the man continued softly. "Regulus was an idiot for pointing out that James and Lily were here. He didn't do it intentionally, but you caught his observation of the Potters and you couldn't shake it off. These things happen, Izar. Just be thankful it didn't happen in a real-life battle."

Izar remained silent, his jaw clenched as he stared at the stone platform across from him.

"I find it easy to concentrate on little things about my opponent during a dueling match in order to keep myself focused and to push away outside thoughts and emotions. The Potters' presence should not affect your duel. They are not standing with you on the platform, are they?" Sirius didn't wait for Izar to respond. "You worry about them after the match is over with. In the meantime, absorb yourself with the Durmstrang Champion and pick apart his flaws and weaknesses. And always be aware of your surroundings."

The Ravenclaw nodded lightly. Sirius was right. There was a time and place for everything and James and Lily Potter were _not _meant to be thought of during a duel.

Sirius placed a hand on Izar's knee, squeezing it. "You have all the skill and creativity in the world, Izar. You just need to clear your mind and apply that gift."

"You're right," Izar admitted softly. "I should be able to focus. I was taken off guard and I let outside forces affect my performance." He turned to look at Sirius. "It doesn't matter anyway. I won't win the Task."

Sirius scoffed. "You're a Negative Nancy."

Izar blinked at the man in response. He _never _wanted to hear that coming from Sirius' mouth again. Shaking his head at his uncle's chuckling form, he stared at the dueling platform. Cyprien and Lukas were just being transported to the top of the dueling dais.

Dumbledore brought his wand to his throat, repeating the same instructions he had with Izar. Within three seconds, the two began dueling. Both of the two wizards were quick and appeared professional. Izar supposed, because the Goblet had chosen these two, they would be good at many things. He was just surprised to see the two move so quickly.

He noticed that Lukas preferred to stay away from the edge of the platform. The Durmstrang boy kept taking sidelong glances behind his shoulder to make sure he wasn't close to the edge. He always stayed a good five feet from the edge and pressed forward.

Cyprien didn't seem to notice Lukas' discomfort with heights. Instead, he was having trouble defending himself against Lukas. The Durmstrang boy was arrogant in his dueling, but he had every reason to be. He was similar to Bellatrix without the sadistic insanity. The boy was _good_ and he was forcing Cyprien to drop his offensive dueling style and take up defensive.

Two minutes had gone by. Both boys were sweating but neither of them showed signs of slowing down. Izar felt his stomach tighten in anticipation. He was ready to duel again. Hopefully this time, he would be able to last more than thirty-five seconds. As far as Auror and Hit Wizards in the stands recognizing Izar's dueling style, he would worry about that when the time came. Who knew? It was reasonable that they wouldn't even compare a Death Eater's dueling style to the Champion Izar Harrison.

Cyprien was hit with a leg-lock curse. The redhead shouted as his wand arm was thrown backwards. The crowd roared as they knew the ending was coming in sight.

Lukas took no pity on the Beauxbaton Champion. With a cruel line to his lips, Lukas blasted the redhead off the platform.

The cheers were deafening. Izar wasn't watching Lukas celebrate on the platform; instead, he eyed Riddle as the politician nodded. It was a pleased nod, almost as if he were impressed. Something dark curled in Izar's belly as the man continued to nod. "He's a very decent dueler," Riddle voiced his opinion out loud.

Izar saw red and he hated himself for being envious.

He knew, in the back of his mind, that Riddle was putting on the show for Izar. The Dark Lord wanted to twist his buttons and push him harder.

What a _cruel_ bastard…

For the second time that hour, Izar turned to look at the screen-like canvas. Cyprien was still in first place with ninety-three points, but the Beauxbaton Champion was also finished for the Second Task. Lukas ended the duel with a solid eighty-seven points.

Izar leaned back, his mind doing a quick calculation. He would need to get at least twenty-two points in order to tie with Cyprien.

"A five minute intermission before our last duel will take place between Izar Harrison of Hogwarts and Lukas Steinar of Durmstrang," Dumbledore's voice rumbled. The Headmaster placed his wand down, cutting off the _Sonorus. _

Briefly, Izar considered what it would take for people to start addressing him as Izar Black. He supposed he would need to do announce his acceptance of his surname publicly. He didn't know if he was ready for such a large leap, but because his dearest _mother _decided to set the pace with the public, he assumed he would need to adjust to the quick relationship he shared with his father.

Sirius touched Izar's right hand, admiring the Black heir ring on his finger. "I remember when I had this ring," the man mused quietly. "I threw it at my mother's head the day I ran away." Dark charcoal eyes looked up at Izar. "She had a notch in her forehead for a good week. Not even magic could get rid of the bump on her head. Regulus told me she blasted a hole through my name on the Black tapestry moments after the swelling began."

Izar's lips twitched. "I could only imagine…" he drawled. He didn't know much about his family history, but Regulus reassured Izar that they would have a summer full of Black history. He was looking forward to it.

"Izar," a voice interrupted Izar's musings.

Without having to look up, he knew Riddle was towering over his seated form. "Let me escort you to the dock."

The kind and persuaded tone was an order in Izar's ears. He glanced up at the transfigured Dark Lord and gave a light shake of his head. "Forgive me, Undersecretary Riddle, but I think I'm going to escort myself down." He allowed it to sink in the Dark Lord's head that he had just snubbed him. With a sugary sweet smile, he added, "but thanks for your generous offer."

There was always something thrilling about slighting the Dark Lord when the man couldn't do anything about it. Izar was sure it was a mistake to do so, especially when he knew other Death Eaters made the mistake of belittling Riddle in public, but it was just so _fun_.

Riddle's false smile grew larger, a cold edge to the corners.

Izar stood up, quickly leaving the Hogwarts box before Riddle could worm in an insult. Sirius was hot on Izar's heels, snickering lightly. Hearing his uncle, Izar always wondered at Sirius' knowledge. Did the man know Riddle was secretly a Dark Lord in the disguise? Izar knew Dumbledore and Lily both recognized Riddle for who the man was. After all, the two Gryffindors had suspicions about the 'Horcruxes' and perhaps Riddle's past. And how much did Dumbledore's Order know? Who were the members of the Order of the Phoenix? Severus Snape would know, the man was a member of the Order and played a double spy.

Breathing deeply, he pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. His musings would need to wait until _after _the duel.

Climbing down the level of stairs, he stood at the edge of the loading ledge where the dock was floated to a stop. Lukas was on his way down from the quick rest at the Durmstrang box, his father, Bjørn Steinar at his heels.

"Good luck, kid." Sirius clapped Izar's on the shoulder again.

Izar took strength from the encouragement Sirius was offering. Somehow, despite his uncle's rather loose head at times, Izar felt comfortable around the man. He didn't feel the need to prove himself to Sirius. The man's expectations were always light.

"Nice cloak," Lukas announced his presence with an arrogant shrug to his shoulders. "The Healers are giving them out after you fall from the platform, correct?" His Norwegian accent was thick today, or maybe Izar had been away from his competition for too long. "Pity I won't get one."

Izar offered a lipless smile. "Don't fret, Steinar, they have one reserved just for you in a matter of minutes."

Cold blue eyes narrowed into slits as they assessed Izar closely. "You don't stand a _chance _against me."

Turning his shoulder on his competition, Izar nodded sharply to Sirius. "Thanks, Sirius," he gave a pat to his uncle's bicep before venturing on the floating dock. He unclasped the heated cloak and tossed it to his uncle. The man looked down at the warm cloak in his arms before grimacing playfully up at Izar.

"I get this as a _thanks_? I was hoping for something a bit more…"

Izar grinned at the man as the dock pulled both Lukas and him away. Sirius' words were drowned out with the loud cheering coming from the stands. The Durmstrang students were the loudest as they believed an easy win was in their midst. The Hogwarts students were quieter, horrified by the last performance Izar had put on against Cyprien. The Ravenclaw couldn't really blame them. His first duel had been ridiculous.

The younger Champion was the first to step off the moving dock and onto the circular platform. He pretended not to notice Lukas' trembling legs as the boy leaped off the dock and onto the free-standing dueling area. It appeared, despite the Norwegian's recent win, the fear of heights had yet to be resolved.

Izar's lips creased into a cruel smile. There was nothing quite like playing with his enemy's weaknesses.

He lingered in the middle of the platform, waiting for the five minute intermission to finish. His fingers brushed his blue and bronzed Champion robes as means to give him something to do. It wouldn't do to let his eyes wander where James and Lily Potter were sitting.

Unfortunately, he found himself looking anyway. The two Potters were in quiet discussion. Lily was the one speaking to her husband and Potter was nodding solemnly. Izar noticed Potter had round features, not pointed like most pure-blood families. The man had dark shadows underneath his eyes, but to offset the defeated-like shadows, determination and stubbornness flattened his lips into a hard line. James Potter looked up at Izar, locking eyes, before the younger looked away.

He searched for Regulus, spotting his father sitting next to a silent and brooding Snape. A few rows in front of his father, Izar was surprised to see the shock of silky blond hair. Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa were sitting regally next to one another, their pale eyes observing Izar indifferently.

"Observing the people here to witness your second embarrassment?" Lukas mocked from his position next to Izar. "Memorizing the faces of the one's you need to suck up to in order to get in their good graces after they witness this mortifying duel?"

Charcoal-green eyes averted from the crowd and onto the boy next to him. "My Lukas, aren't you witty today." Izar turned his body in order to face the taller Norwegian boy. Amusedly, he noted the boy had slicked his black hair back for the duel. Usually, there were thick bangs covering half his face. Izar didn't dare comment on the change, fearing Lukas would take it as a compliment.

"Tell me," Izar continued. "Is it the fear of the upcoming duel running your tongue? Or have you missed me?"

They were standing chest to chest. Lukas had his wand out and the tip of it brushed against Izar's chest. Magic sparked and shocked Izar, but he didn't flinch and give the boy the satisfaction. Any of the spectators would see the tension between the two wizards. Maybe that was why the crowd grew louder with anticipation. Durmstrang flags were being waved from the crowd below and a few Hogwarts flags could be seen among the roar of voices.

Lukas breathed through his nostrils, his handsome face twisting with mocking humor. "I wouldn't go so far as to say I've missed you. However, I did find myself longing to see that pretty little face of yours." Lukas tapped his wand against Izar's cheek sharply. "Enlighten me, how is your girlfriend doing? Has her mind recovered from the attack at the Yule Ball? Her mind couldn't be any worse off than it was before the attack. After all, she was dense enough to see _something _in you."

Izar moved his arm, hitting back Lukas' wand hand in order to direct the boy's wand elsewhere. "Obviously _you_ see something in me to use my face for wanking material."

Lukas' eyes widened a fraction before narrowing into slits. "I wouldn't sink so low."

"The five minute intermission has come to a stop," Dumbledore's voice interrupted the two Champions. "Please bow to your opponent."

Lukas and Izar stared each other, both revolted at the idea of _bowing _to one another. Nonetheless, Izar decided to be the bigger wizard and gave a regal bow. Lukas, on the other hand, gave a stiff inclination of his waist before stalking to his end of the platform. Disproved cries came from the Hogwarts fans. Izar stayed in his bow, watching Lukas walk away with a slight smirk on his lips.

Pushing his irritation away, Izar turned and gracefully walked to his end of the dueling platform. Pivoting elegantly on his heel, he bent into his dueling position. His thoughts were calm as he gazed across at Lukas. He noted with amusement that Lukas was standing a good distance away from the end of the stage.

"Three," Dumbledore began the countdown.

Unlike before, Izar's fingers were dry. His legs were still and solid.

"Two."

His thoughts were focused and sharpened, already having his first plan of action drawn out.

"One."

As predicted, Lukas took a large step forward and cast his first nonverbal spell. Izar stood up from his dueling position and calmly eyed the oncoming curse. Cries of disbelief spread throughout the pitch as his fans believed him to choke once again.

He held his wand loosely, his eyes sharp. _"Bulla,_" Izar murmured softly. It was a small spell he had invented. The spell was nothing of Dark nature, but it involved his specialty; magic manipulation.

Lukas looked smug as his hex raced toward a seemingly motionless Izar. As soon as Izar had murmured his incantation, a small sphere-like bubble grew at the end of his wand. With quick reflexes, Izar moved his wand toward the oncoming hex. The bubble at the end of his wand absorbed the hex and encased it within.

Izar threw his wand back and then thrust it forward as if he were going to throw his wand at Lukas. Instead, he kept a tight hold on his Thestral wand and allowed the sphere to race toward Lukas. The boy's eyes widened and he quickly set up a shield. Only, Izar's sphere had raced straight through Lukas' guard and continued on its path to its caster.

Lukas gave a yelp as he dived away from the sphere. The Durmstrang Champion barely balanced himself from falling over on the ledge. Meanwhile, the sphere came in contact with the stone platform and exploded. Lukas' arms thrashed to regain his balance when he watched half of the platform crumble away in debris to the waters below. Regrettably, magic re-grew the lost pieces of the stone platform and put it back in complete shape.

So Izar wouldn't be able to destroy the platform they stood upon. But he had done enough to shake Lukas and it didn't mean he couldn't _transfigure _the stone they stood upon.

Izar blocked Lukas' next curse with a bat of his wand.

For the next few minutes, they traded curses back and forth. Izar kept to Sirius' teachings and remained bent at the knee. It was an Auror reflex and most of Sirius' Auror training rubbed off of Izar. Bellatrix had mocked him because of it during the winter break, but Izar couldn't find any fault in the heightened reflexes the Auror stance offered him.

Three minutes had passed and sweat began to bead across Izar's forehead. They weren't getting anywhere. The upper hand he started off with had been leveled off with the lack of hits he had been able to get. Both Champions were quick and both had outstanding reflexes. Their spells couldn't come in contact with one another.

Apparently it was time for him to up the playing field. Izar growled as he pointed at the circular platform. "_Perlucidulus."_

The stone dueling ring slowly turned transparent from Izar's spell. Lukas' eyes widened comically as he caught sight of the water far below. The boy's legs bowed and he crouched down, touching the transparent platform with his hands. Izar grinned as he whipped a disarming charm in the boy's direction. Surprisingly enough, Lukas quickly blocked it, his body still crouched down to the platform. His blue eyes were wide, almost deranged.

Izar eyed the water below the translucent platform and grinned. It wasn't unheard of to manipulate water or fire— the elements, really. But the caster who manipulated the elements needed to harbor a considerable amount of power to accomplish it.

Lifting both arms in the air, he twirled his wand in between his fingers as he breathed forcibly through his nose. He knew his nonverbal magic had succeeded, simply because his arms felt as if they were being weighed down by the water's weight. With an exaggerated quickness, he threw down his arms, tipping his head back as he felt his power leak through him.

He heard the sound of water rushing violently. Cracking open his eyes, he laughed merrily as he watched the water curling upward toward the platform. With the translucent platform and the water coming at full force, Izar suspected that he would finally knock Lukas off the platform.

He grunted as he motioned his wand toward Lukas. As quickly as the water came dousing in the Durmstrang Champion, Izar cast a shield over himself to stop the water from taking him down with the other boy.

The crowd was just as loud as the water as it roared on top of Lukas. Izar could see nothing but the crashing waves and hoped that the Durmstrang boy had washed off the dueling circle. A few droplets spit past Izar's shield and got his face and hair wet. With his opposite hand, he wiped his eyes. As he opened them, he was surprised to find Lukas standing.

"_Locomotor!" _

Izar's legs locked together and he dropped his wand at the sudden attack. Lukas didn't seem to notice the wand lying lazily between them; no, the boy was set on revenge. His clothes were soaking wet and his face was abnormally pale from his fright.

He sent a dark curse at Izar. With his legs locked, Izar had to quickly dip his torso backwards. He marveled at his flexibility before abruptly twisting to the side to avoid another curse. Sweat beaded his forehead and he called longingly for his wand. Wandless magic wasn't his strongest suit; in fact he hardly used it at all.

Nonetheless, it jumped into his hand and he quickly canceled the Leg-Locker curse. Just as he was about to blast the boy off his feet, a sudden movement from the platform caused him to fall to his feet and drop his wand.

Promptly, he looked up at the timer and noticed they had passed the five minute mark. The platform would start moving, attempting to knock off the first dueler.

Izar stared in horror as his wand rolled off the side of the platform. Lukas wasn't dealing so well with the sudden movement either. He watched his wand accompany Izar's off the side of the translucent dueling ring. Blue and charcoal-green eyes met before the two boys scrambled up to stop their wands from falling off the edge.

Lukas and Izar wrestled with each other, both reaching toward their wands. The two rods of wood rolled completely off the platform and into the waters below. The Black heir blinked in disbelief. While he used wandless magic to summon his wand just seconds ago, he knew such a long distance would make it impossible to get his wand back.

Izar grunted as Lukas pushed him hard. The younger wizard rolled before falling off the edge. He hissed as his wet fingers grasped the edge of the dueling ring. Izar didn't have much upper strength, and because his fingers were so wet, holding the edge was turning out to be extremely difficult.

His whole body dangled in midair and his arms began shaking from the tension he was placing on his typically useless upper body. Through his sweaty black hair, Izar watched Lukas grin down at him before slamming his heel down on his left hand. Tipping back his head, Izar howled in pain. With only his right hand left, he watched as Lukas brought back his foot, intent to knock Izar off completely.

Luckily, the platform groaned again as it see-sawed the opposite way. Izar grinned as his side of the platform lifted upward and Lukas' side caused the boy to roll downward. Before the platform flattened out again, Izar straddled the edge before pulling himself up safely.

The platform wasn't doing anything too frightening. For now, the only motion the dueling ring was going through was a see-saw motion. A _slow _see-saw motion.

Izar and Lukas stared at one another, their bodies finally in balance.

The rest of the duel was going to be a physical one. Sadly, Izar was far less muscled than Lukas but he _was _knowledgeable in some defense, probably more-so than Lukas. After all, the orphanage had hardened Izar to defending himself against fists.

Lukas grinned broadly, his thoughts probably mirroring Izar's. The Durmstrang boy stood up, bending his knees for balance as the platform swayed softly back and forth. He grinned triumphantly as he held his arms up for his cheering section.

Izar leaned back, smirking as he watched Lukas assume he had already won the duel. The Durmstrang students roared their Champion on.

"Come on, Harrison, can't you stand up?" Lukas challenged as he licked his lips. "Or should I call you Black?"

Not wanting to humor the boy, but wanting to end the duel as soon as possible, Izar stood up, his arms flailing for balance when the platform twisted again. The two Champions were nearing the seven minute mark as soon as Lukas charged.

The Ravenclaw laughed and side-stepped the charging boy. Lukas stumbled, barely holding himself up as he leaned dangerously over the edge. Izar didn't give him time to recover. He delivered a punch to the boy's face. Sadly, Steinar stopped the punch with his palm, grinning as he delivered his own punch straight to Izar's nose.

Izar grunted, holding his nose as he went down heavily. Glowering, Izar watched blood seep in between his fingers. Looking up at Lukas, the Ravenclaw noted the Durmstrang's smug appearance. Charcoal-green eyes then eyed the distance the boy was away from the edge. An idea brightened Izar's expression as he flattened his palms and chest to the platform.

Putting most his weight on his torso, Izar rotated his hips and legs around and side-swept Lukas' legs out from beneath him. The boy went down and Izar quickly jumped to his knees, slamming his fist into Lukas' face as revenge.

As Lukas cried out in pain, Izar pushed the boy off the edge. Even from further above, Izar could hear the Durmstrang boy scream as he fell.

Izar issued an insane giggle and threw himself on his back in the middle of the platform.

From his position on the dueling ring, he eyed the scores. Lukas was now in first place with ninety-four points; one whole point in front of Cyprien's ninety-three. Even with the seven points added from dueling with Lukas and the two points for actually _winning _the duel, Izar was still in last place with eighty points.

However…

"Mr. Harrison has been awarded nine points for his duel against Mr. Steinar of Durmstrang. However, because he is without his wand, Mr. Harrison has the chance of adding more points to his score. With each thirty seconds he stays on the platform, five points will be awarded." Dumbledore's voice carried across the pitch, reassuring Izar that there was still a chance to win this Task.

Izar didn't get much time to do the math, but he did come to the conclusion that he had to stay on the dueling ring for at least a minute and a half.

And then the intensity of the shifting platform heightened. Izar squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach becoming weak as the world spun too quickly for him to keep up. It not only swayed, but it also spun. The only thing keeping him from vomiting was the knowledge that he would just be vomiting all over himself.

"Thirty two seconds, Mr. Harrison," Dumbledore announced. The old man was actually generous enough to announce the time elapsed. Izar couldn't look at the scoreboard if his bloody life depended on it. However, his celebration of thirty seconds dwindled down when he realized he wouldn't be able to lay in the middle of the dueling ring the whole time. The large stone platform began tipping back and forth, causing his body to roll each way like a rag doll.

Desperately, his fingers clawed at the transparent stone as it tipped him almost at a ninety degree angle. Blood stained the platform as the skin on his fingers tore. He desperately tried to stay within the middle, but it was impossible with the degree the platform turned.

He yelped, falling. His sore fingers caught the edge once again before the platform tipped the opposite way.

"One minute has passed," Dumbledore's voice announced.

Izar flung a leg on the platform, straddling it as he realized a pattern. The dueling ring seemed to tip side-to-side with a sharper degree every few seconds. If he was able to run to the opposite side and grab hold on the top, he would be able to stay on a bit longer.

He sprinted across the platform as it began to straighten out before tipping again. Unfortunately, before he could grab hold on the other end, his foot slipped on the water-slick platform.

His head came in solid contact with the hard stone and his vision blackened and his body turned limp. Fate was cruel as it kept him half-conscious through his fall. He couldn't hear anything, see anything, or move anything.

He continued to fall.

As his body submerged in the water, his first thought was if he succeeded in staying on the platform for a minute and a half…

And for his second conscious thought, he wondered to what extent the damage done to his head.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar came back to himself slowly. The first thing he noted was the slightly hard mattress he was laying upon and the stiff blanket holding him down. He heard people— a lot of people and the smell of outdoors. Opening his eyes, Izar blinked at the tent above his head. He concluded he was outside, in the Healer's tent. Judging from the sound of the crowd, he assumed he hadn't been out of consciousness very long.

He struggled to sit up, feeling the ache in his entire body. His head throbbed and he had trouble seeing straight. He furrowed his brows, blinking and trying to focus. It was blurry…

A throat cleared next to him. Startled and ashamed he hadn't sensed the magic before the individual announced their presence, Izar turned to the person at his bedside.

Red-hot anger burned the back of his neck as he stared at Lily Potter.

Why couldn't he have just _remained _unconscious?


	29. Part I Chapter 29

A lot to take in for this chapter. Sorry its a few days late ;) Thanks so much for your reviews.

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

"What are you doing here?" Izar asked scathingly, yet he controlled his expression. He always detested when an individual's face twisted in a less than pleasing expression. It was better to be attractive and contemptuous at the same time.

Lily sat stoically at Izar's bedside, her vivid green eyes tracing Izar's features almost obsessively. Her pale and small hands cupped each other on her lap, showing no signs of tremors or weakness.

"I've come to talk to you."

"Well, isn't that obvious?" Izar hissed. "Who let you in here, anyway?" He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes to keep the room from spinning. His head was bloody killing him. "No, don't tell me," he held up a hand, squinting mockingly at his _mother_. "I can see your nose halfway up Dumbledore's arsehole from here. Of course he arranged this for you."

"Yes and no," Lily confirmed, not at all abashed with Izar's vulgar language. Surprisingly, a light smirk lifted the corner of her mouth at his crude assumption. "I'm on decent terms with the main Healer for the Tournament." She nodded her chin casually across the room.

Izar turned, furrowing his brows as he made out the crimson robes of a Healer. The man was a good distance away from them, making a potion quickly, paying no heed to Lily and Izar. Averting his eyes from the Healer and onto Lily, he smirked. "Did you have his baby too?"

She frowned, her eyes narrowing just barely. She opened her mouth but Izar cut her off.

"Do you really expect me to listen to anything you intend to say? You had your chance at speaking with me for over fifteen years. Why do you think I'd listen after you screwed with Regulus' reputation and turned a blind eye to my upbringing?"

Lily leaned forward, her dark red ponytail falling across her shoulders. She placed her hands on the side of his cot, looking up at him evenly. There was no desperation, no vulnerability, only a woman who was confident and intelligent. Her eyes shone with sharp astuteness and also a bit of interest. "There are many things I regret to this day," her green eyes then brightened with remorse before they cleared. "I will _never _forgive myself for placing you at the Muggle orphanage. But I had to do it. I had to."

"Why?" Izar growled. He blamed his head injury for wanting to know the reasons she abandoned him. However, even Izar would admit that he deserved to know the reason the woman who conceived him had so easily dropped him at an orphanage. "Why did you leave me _there_, at the orphanage, of all places?"

She never removed her eyes off his. She was unwavering. He bitterly admitted that he was impressed with her handle on emotions. Apparently, he had underestimated this woman. She wasn't that drowned rat he had seen at the Department of Mysteries this summer. No, after she woke up from her deep depression, the woman could be considered a worthy opponent.

"I was young, incredibly uncertain and so… lost," she admitted. "My emotional state was unhealthy and there wasn't any way I could take care of an infant properly like a mother should. I thought the orphanage would be a good substitute to my care. There was also the option of allowing James to raise you. But I was selfish. Every time I looked at you, I would be reminded of what I had done to Regulus."

He sniffed, turning away from her and staring at the tent's flap. "You didn't _care _what you did to Regulus. You imbedded a sharp dagger in his back when he trusted you. There was no remorse on your behalf when you betrayed him."

Lily straightened up from her bowed position, her eyes flashing. "Perhaps not. But I grieved every hour, every second I was with him, knowing what emotional turmoil I would put him through with my actions."

"You conceived me just to lead his hand," Izar lashed out. "You were a pitiless _bitch._"

Green eyes darkened. "I was," she admitted. "As much as I hated myself for what I did to him, I would have done it all again if I had succeeded the second time around. A rising Dark Lord is nothing to play around with, Izar. Destroying the Dark Lord was my primary goal. Loving Regulus, unfortunately, came a close second."

Izar shook his head, fury burning the walls of his stomach and chest. "Regulus told me all about what you did. You had him turn his back on the life he knew to follow you like a love-sick puppy. You then had him search for a priceless artifact in Bellatrix's vault, _knowing _and not caring what the consequences would be if he was found out."

Lily raised her shaped eyebrows. "He told you everything?"

For a moment, Izar debated. If he played oblivious to everything she was hinting at with the Dark Lord and the Horcruxes, it would be far more difficult to dance around in the future and remember what he feigned naive about. If he confirmed he knew everything, it would be easier to extract the reasons why she did what she did. It also would not hurt Voldemort. The man didn't have Horcruxes. There would be no foul.

"Regulus told me all I needed to know," Izar side-stepped the question. "You believed there was a rising Dark Lord," he murmured. "That was over sixteen years ago that you believed such a farce. Where is the Dark Lord now? Your actions for betraying Regulus and I were for naught. There is no Dark Lord."

She was silent for a long moment, searching him. He knew, she too, was trying to figure out how much he knew and how much to tell him. And then Izar realized that this relationship, whatever it was, was based on lies. It was also a dance with her, a tiring dance he needed to play in the battle of the mind. While Izar still found it difficult to let down his barriers with Regulus, his father was someone Izar could trust.

"You know Undersecretary Riddle is a Dark Lord in disguise," she called his bluff. For good measure, her eyes dropped to his left forearm.

Izar glanced down at his bare arm. He was clothed in a shirt, revealing most the skin on his arm. However, Daphne's armband she created for the fans of Hogwarts' Champion was tied over his 'Dark Mark'. Lily wouldn't have seen Izar's manipulations with the Mark, but she assumed there _was _the Dark Lord's Mark on his skin.

He looked back up at her, unabashed. "Undersecretary Riddle—"

"Our spy has already told us of your initiation," she replied coolly. "From what they said, you've already made your way up to Lord Voldemort's second ranking." Her face held no emotion. Again, he was reminded that this was a different woman from what he had seen in the Department of Mysteries.

A spy— Severus Snape. Izar's lips thinned and he mirrored Lily's unemotional face with his own. Just how much did Professor Snape tell Dumbledore and his _Order_? Did Voldemort know Snape was giving information to Dumbledore? _True _information?

"That's pretty hard to prove," Izar retorted softly. He would never outright agree that Tom Riddle was the Dark Lord Voldemort and he would never acknowledge that he was a Death Eater.

She smiled softly, yet her eyes remained pensive as she studied him. "You're a very smart boy, Izar," she breathed softly. Crossing her legs, she clasped her fingers together over her knees. In all ways, she looked every bit of a graceful pure-blood. Only, she was a bit unhealthy looking and haunted. "Despite not being raised by Regulus and I, you turned out to know your way around words."

"I take your compliment to heart, really," Izar drawled dryly.

Her dark lashes brushed her cheeks as she looked down at her hands. "I'm not here to collect evidence that you're a Death Eater, Izar. I've come here to explain myself and my side of the story. Nevertheless, I know it will probably be in vain for you to understand my reasons. You've already been touched by the Dark's opinion on certain matters."

Izar scoffed, looking up at the tent's ceiling. "Personally, I don't see what the Light and Dark sides of the world have anything to do with a mother's and lover's betrayal."

"That's exactly right," Lily commended. "We got distracted from our original topic. I told you if I had to do it over—"

"If you had to do it over again, you would do the same thing," Izar finished for her, disgusted.

"Yes," the woman conceded. "Though, I would do one thing different." Her emerald eyes were bright as she looked passionately at Izar. "I would have never used a child as a bargaining chip. I was desperate to get Regulus to turn away from his family's involvement with the Dark Lord, so I gave him the one thing he'd always wanted, a child. All those years ago, I thought it was a brilliant way to get him to assist destroying the Horcruxes. Now, I realize the flaw in my ways. I destroyed you and your childhood. An innocent body in this situation."

She lifted her chin, a thin line to her lips. She looked as if she was trying hard to control her tears and emotions, and she succeeded. It was almost if she believed Izar would be disgusted with her tears, so she tried her hardest to keep them at bay. She was right. Izar would see the tears as meaningless ways of expressing her regret.

"I will forever hate myself for what I did to you. I will never ask forgiveness from you because I don't deserve it and also because I don't want it."

Before Izar could tell her she didn't need to worry about him forgiving her, she continued.

"There were many other alternatives to leaving you in an orphanage. I could have placed you with my sister and her Muggle family," she ignored Izar's deep sneer. "I could have placed you in a magical orphanage or I could have glamoured you into looking like James and passed you off as his son. But I would be deceiving James more than I already had. I loved Regulus in Hogwarts, or, I believed I did. When I graduated, I came to love James as he matured."

"I don't really care who you loved and who you didn't," Izar murmured, bored. "Admittedly, I would rather live in an orphanage than be _his_ son."

"You would have been living a lie," Lily nodded sharply. "And as much as I caused Regulus' predestined death for his betrayal of the Dark Lord, I couldn't bring myself to manipulate his child. He always wanted you, Izar. When I told him I wasn't pregnant with his child, I saw the heartbreak in his eyes. I couldn't bring myself to having another man raise his child, James especially."

"It amazes me that you try to pass off what you did to him as nothing." Izar looked over at the Healer. The man in crimson robes was still brewing a strong-smelling potion. Lily spoke before he could pin-point what the potion was.

"That's where you're wrong. I have no regret over what I did to Regulus. I hate myself for what I put him through emotionally, but I did it in hopes of turning him away from the Dark and helping us defeat the Dark Lord. I do, however, have regrets over what I did to _you_."

He turned to her sharply, his lip raised almost animalistically. "You had many chances to come back to get me from the orphanage. You never did. You even looked me in the eye last year at the Ministry and never inclined that you were my true mother. You feigned innocence to my name, to my origins."

"I didn't want to thrust myself into your life, I had _no_ right to know you," she replied heatedly, her voice raising. "I realized I had to live with my faults and I also had to come to terms that I had to let you grow up without me. My guilt for what I did to you was too strong. You would have never accepted me back after so many years, or so I assumed."

Her cheeks were red with passion and anger.

"Then why now?" Izar questioned coldly. "Why the _Prophet? _Why are you pushing yourself, forcibly, into my life when I don't want you?"

She didn't take time to ponder on her response. Sitting up straighter, she nodded softly. "I woke up from living in the past, from the downward spiral of depression. I may be selfish, but I want to get to know you, I want to protect you, Izar. Originally, I though Regulus was dead. Now that I know he's alive, I will stop at nothing to get you away from his custody and the Dark Lord's influence."

He narrowed his eyes. It was too late. _She _was too late. He briefly pondered what would have happen if Lily had been the first to approach him before Regulus, before the Dark Lord. Would he fall into the idea of having a mother and side with the Light?

The answer came to him quickly. No, he wouldn't serve the Light.

Izar knew that he would still hate Muggles and the Dark Lord would have eventually recognized him as his mate. There was no mistake that the Dark Arts also called to him and his invented spells were commonly Dark in nature. It wouldn't have mattered if Lily had approached him first. But then again, he had no way to know if that was true.

Charcoal-green eyes looked up at Lily. "Earlier, you claimed you didn't want your husband, James, to raise me because you knew how much Regulus wanted a child. You put me in an orphanage because you couldn't stand manipulating Regulus' child. Now that he's alive, you aren't respecting his wish at having a child, but destroying it. Again."

Lily gave a light sigh, her eyes becoming brighter with each second in Izar's presence. The shadows beneath her eyes seemed to have lightened as well. "It was his memory I was respecting when I put you in the orphanage. If I knew he was still alive, I would have found a way to keep you."

She made it sound like he was a bloody puppy. Izar glowered, biting his tongue as Lily started again. "I don't believe Regulus is… sane," Lily continued. "I also put you in the orphanage to hide you from the other Black relatives. Bellatrix was the one to witness my affair with Regulus. I didn't want them to find you and raise you. They are an unstable family, Izar. Regulus may seem competent now, but he's far from stable."

Izar felt the magic before he saw the man. Above Lily's head, he watched as Riddle materialized from the entrance to the tent. The Dark Lord moved with a lethal grace, setting his sights on Lily sitting before him. Shadows clung to the man's form as he slowly stalked forward, a fierce light to his eyes. Lily was oblivious to the predator behind her.

Izar looked back down at her sitting form, a dark pleasure tightening his stomach at the sight Riddle made.

"You won't be able to win," Izar continued the conversation calmly. "I want to stay with Regulus. He's a good father, one who doesn't take advantage of the one's he cares for."

"He's also unstable," Lily countered. "He's placed you in the Dark Lord's grasp and I won't tolerate him initiating your Cygnus' Curse."

Izar's eyes sharpened and burned. "You know _nothing _about Cygnus' Curse, don't presume that you do." How dare she? Cygnus' Curse was a Black Family secret. Regulus no doubt told her about it in his years of vulnerability, but she had no right to yield the information back at Izar. She had no _right _to harbor the secrets of the Black Family when she had no part in it.

Her eyes remained unimpressed by his vehement response. "I know that you have been touched by the Cygnus' Curse. You are the one Cygnus intended to harbor the powers he set out to obtain for himself. I've been studying the Veil for sixteen years, Izar. I know more about Cygnus' Curse than Regulus." She cocked her head to the side, a frown playing her lips. "Regulus has no idea what the Cygnus' Curse is about, let alone what it can do to you."

Uncertainty twisted his gut. He could sense that she was telling the truth. But how could Regulus _not _know what Cygnus' Curse was? The man appeared to know what it was the day he informed Izar about his past with Lily.

"Lily," a man called out warningly.

Lily turned, catching sight of James Potter. The bespectacled man nodded his head toward Voldemort who stood only a few feet away from Lily. She stood abruptly, a hand to her throat. "How long have you been here?" She demanded toward Riddle.

The man paid her no heed as he swept forward. After all, Lord Voldemort did _not _answer to anyone.

"Taking your time?" Undersecretary Riddle called out the Healer. The crimson-robed man whirled around, a bit of fright coming off his aura. "The boy has a head injury; surely your work could come along a bit quicker." Riddle sat gracefully on Izar's make-shift cot and grasped the Ravenclaw's jaw.

Izar's stomach clenched hotly at the touch but his face revealed nothing of his excitement. Why did he always need to react so positively to the bastard?

Charcoal-green eyes peered at Lily, noticing her hand had dropped from her neck to her pocket. By the time she would draw her wand, Riddle would have her on her back, screaming in pain. Maybe Lily recognized this, for she kept her wand safely inside her pocket.

Before the Healer could respond to Riddle's inquiry, the tent flap opened once again, admitting Regulus. His eyes were wild as he surveyed the situation. "You sink pretty low," Regulus whispered toward Lily. He stalked past James and approached Lily, ignoring how her husband remained two steps behind him. "Izar has a head injury and you came to manipulate him to your side? I admit, it was a brilliant idea to play the game of 'guess what tent my son is in' before we were held back by Dumbledore."

Regulus' charcoal eyes were chilling, almost appearing similar to liquid mercury. He circled her before standing on the opposite side of Izar's bed. Izar watched as Regulus stared both Lily and James down, a stubborn tick to his jaw.

Riddle tisked, drawing Izar's attention back to him by tugging on his chin. "Look at me, child," the man held up his wand, in which a small light shone from the end.

Izar glowered, knowing what the man was doing. In front of these people, no less. Despite being a cruel and sadistic Dark Lord, Voldemort seemed to take pleasure in nursing Izar back to health, almost as if he took satisfaction in being the one to make Izar feel better and no one else. The young Ravenclaw curled his legs closer to his chest, his eyelids becoming heavy to avoid the light at the end of Riddle's wand.

"Not until you tell me what the outcome of the Task was."

Riddle's dark brown eyes gleamed, as if he were pleased with Izar's terms. The Undersecretary placed his wand down and removed his hand from Izar's chin.

"Manipulating him?" Lily questioned darkly. "I had no intention to tell him lies about what you've already told him," she shot back.

Somehow, Izar blurred out the others in the tent and found himself seeing only Riddle. He would have liked to listen to the others, but Riddle had a way about him that most individuals found hard to look away from. He was suave and charismatic, and entirely overwhelming.

"They sound petty fighting over you when you already belong to me," Riddle mused fondly. His voice was quiet enough for Izar to barely pick up but it would be impossible for the others to hear, especially when they were arguing amongst themselves.

Izar was sure Regulus had a few dry and sarcastic retorts, but for the life of him, Izar couldn't bring his attention away from Riddle.

"Despite my attempts," Izar murmured. "Your head is enlarging each day. I don't know what made you believe I belong to you." It was a pathetic attempt to refuse the man's claim on him when Izar knew well enough that Voldemort _did _have a very large claim on him. Though, it made Izar stay sane whenever he denied it. He would _always _be his own person despite who marked him.

"Whatever you'd like to believe," Riddle responded lightly. "As long as you keep that spark in you, I don't care what you spout out from that pretty little mouth of yours." The Undersecretary leaned back, sizing Izar up with critical eyes. "Your second duel," he began. "Was acceptable, though, nothing particularly astonishing."

The man paused, his brown eyes drinking in Izar's features coolly. "I witnessed your first lesson with Professor Black this year and I will truthfully admit that you have come a long way from where you were before. You've only been practicing with him for a few weeks, no? Black is a decent duelist, but his training is for beginners. You will eventually need someone to teach you the finer aspects of the art."

A flush darkened Izar's ears. "I felt confined today," he admitted defensively.

"That's understandable," Riddle murmured. The voices around them grew louder. "Your dueling style relies heavily upon your invented spells and quite a few curses that would be looked down upon from your spectators. You did well, Izar, despite the circumstances."

Izar took the man's words to heart, nodding sharply. He knew his first duel was an embarrassment, yet the Dark Lord seemed to side-step mentioning it. "You seem rather lenient with me, I don't know if I'm happy about that or disappointed." Izar paused, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. "Did I make it on the platform for a minute and a half?"

Riddle's lips thinned and he shook his head negatively. "No."

Disappointment rushed through Izar and he leaned back against his pillow, sulking darkly.

Riddle lit his wand again reaching for Izar's chin. "Come now; let me see your eyes."

Izar reluctantly leaned forward, staring at Riddle as the man peered at his eyes. His headache was growing worse with the constant bickering around his bedside. It wasn't so much loud and obnoxious, no, Regulus had more class than to shout and stamp his foot out of anger. They were controlled, but their hostile auras' were starting to affect him. His sensitivity to auras was still ridiculously high, if not growing higher each day.

"What are your symptoms?" Riddle asked briskly, purely professional.

"A bloody hammer is cracking open my skull," Izar breathed. He hesitated, wondering how much he should confine in the man. But from the look Riddle was giving him, Izar broke up. "I also find it difficult to see straight."

Riddle's lips thinned once again and he stood up, furious. His expression was relatively calm, yet his eyes and magic spoke words. The man set his sights on the Healer, considering the man quietly. Before Riddle could make a move, the tent flap opened once again and Dumbledore and Sirius came in.

The room quieted down, thankfully. However, the auras became more hostile and the atmosphere became stiff with tension.

Sirius licked his lips, uncomfortable, before turning to Izar. The man seemed relived to find him conscious. "First place, Izar, congratulations," Sirius interrupted the pressure in the room, flashing a thumbs up toward the ill boy.

Izar narrowed his eyes before turning to look at Riddle, frowning at the man. In response, the Dark Lord shrugged nonchalantly. "You asked if you were on the platform for a minute and a half, and I said no. You never asked if you received first place standing." Obviously, it was payback for the snub Izar had given the man earlier today. "You hit the water at exactly one minute and twenty eight seconds. The judges decided to award you the extra five points."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, his eyebrows high as he surveyed the bodies in the room. "I believe we should allow Mr. Harrison—"

"Mr. Black," Izar corrected softly, not looking at Headmaster Dumbledore.

He could feel the pleased aura coming from Regulus at his words. His father placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Regulus' contact was much different than Riddle's. Whereas Riddle had a touch that seemed to make Izar restless and hot, Regulus' touch always comforted him.

"Some rest," Dumbledore continued as if Izar hadn't interrupted him.

James and Sirius stood at Dumbledore's back and Lily stood confidently at the Headmaster's side. Her attention was on Izar and Regulus, but she made no outer clue to what she was thinking. Behind her, Sirius' posture was stiff and he refused to meet James' imploring eyes. Instead, Izar's uncle watched the proceedings before him in quiet observation. It looked as if he wanted nothing to do with James Potter or the uncomfortable situation before him. Izar supposed pride was the only reason why Sirius didn't turn his heel and leave right away.

"Some rest?" Regulus repeated Dumbledore's instruction with a scoff. "The same rest you arranged for him when you sent _her _in here to talk to him? My son has a head injury and you could only think of the gain it could bring to you."

Izar slumped, exhausted. Any other time, he would be sitting up, taking note on the actions and expressions on the wizards' and witch's faces. But he found it difficult to stay awake. The Dark Lord's growing ferocity was reason enough why Izar was still conscious.

"That is how the Headmaster works, Mr. Black," Riddle started out softly, glancing at Regulus before facing forward once more. "After accomplishing his plans for a dysfunctional family reunion, he can now focus on the boy's health. The child's health, after all, is second to his own scheming."

_The boy. _

Izar glowered angrily at Riddle. The man ignored him in favor of peering at Lily and Dumbledore with a dark promise in his eyes. Izar caught Sirius shifting uncomfortably. The man's face was closed off completely but his aura screamed of uncertainty and confusion. Izar pondered on the man for a moment, wondering what side his uncle was on. Could the man be swayed over to the Dark?

There may be a possibility of attempting to sway the man. However, the Ravenclaw knew Sirius was all Gryffindor; headstrong, stubborn, and he had a sense of righteous. Despite getting along with Regulus, Sirius seemed to be a man of the Light. A true black sheep of the Black family. Izar didn't know if he should respect the man for stepping outside his expectations in life or disappointed that such a powerful wizard would support the Light. Of course, his disappointment with Sirius supporting the Light had _nothing _to do with Izar's attachment…

Or, at least he was trying to tell himself that.

Dumbledore didn't seem abashed from the man's comment. Instead, he chuckled lightly. "I see no reason to withhold Lily from seeing her son."

James Potter took his attention off Sirius and stepped forward next to his wife. His brown-hazel eyes sought Izar's form on the bed, studying him. Izar was not afraid of the man and stared right back. The Black heir was curious to know what Potter thought about this whole situation. Regulus hinted that James had known about the affair when it happened, or after Izar was born. Yet, the man didn't seem to be outwardly disgusted with Izar.

Instead, his aura seemed to hint at a sense of pity.

Izar narrowed his eyes on Potter, not _needing _pity from anyone, especially from bloody Potter.

The Ravenclaw shifted, well aware of all the auras around him. Despite it giving him a larger headache, Izar was rather interested in comparing the auras. While the Dark Lord and Dumbledore had the most powerful auras, winning by a long shot, Izar was surprised to note that the others in the room harbored about the same level of magic. Though, Regulus and James seemed to be a few steps above Lily and Sirius in terms of their magical aura. Nevertheless, Izar was not fooled. Power wasn't the only factor that determined how much of a threat a witch or wizard was.

Regulus tightened his hold on Izar's shoulder, almost in a possessive manner when he noticed Potter's observation.

"Just as you saw no reason to withhold treatment from him?" Riddle continued dryly. His mouth curled downward as he turned to look over his shoulder at the Healer. "I realize now that I should have double-checked the applicants for the Healer position. What is your name, _boy_?" The Undersecretary barked the order, startling Izar.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, Izar watched as dark tendrils of magic stretch from Riddle's aura before curling around the Healer. Just as predicted, the Healer became white with fear. Izar found his stomach tightening in arousal. It seemed so easy, so effortlessly, for Riddle to intimidate any man in his path.

"C-carter McTolley, Mr. Undersecretary, sir," the young Healer stuttered.

Riddle's eyebrows lifted and a sneer marred the man's expression. "We won't be needing your assistance any longer, Healer McTolley. Consider yourself terminated from your position as the Head Healer for this Tournament."

Lily made a noise in the back of her throat. Izar smirked lightly. He may despise the Dark Lord at times, but the man was utterly _brilliant _when it came to ordering people around with simplicity. And he pulled it off stunningly.

"Mr. Riddle, you are of no position to terminate this young man," Dumbledore spoke up, his face alive with anger. "He has done nothing but his job—,"

Riddle turned back to Dumbledore, his cloak snapping about his heels. "In reality, Headmaster, I _do_ have the standing to dismiss this man from his position. He has done a poor job of stabilizing his patient and I will not stand for our Hogwarts Champion to be _interrogated _when he has a concussion." Izar noted Riddle's fury licking behind his mask.

Dumbledore drew himself up tall, staring piercingly at Riddle behind his glasses. "Then who do you suggest to tend to Mr. Harrison? Yourself?" Dumbledore seemed amused, possibly because internal Healing was considered to be Light magic. But Izar knew that Riddle was a Master of magic, the man controlled Light magic just as easily as he did Dark. He only preferred the Dark Arts.

"Of course not," Riddle stepped closer to Izar's bed, placing himself in front of it protectively. Izar's eyes began to grow heavy and he slowly shut himself down. His headache was beyond excruciating. "Professor Severus Snape will do just fine."

"Professor Snape is not here, Undersecretary Riddle."

Just as the words left Lily Potter's mouth, the flap of the tent opened once again, issuing a scowling Severus Snape. The Dark Lord must have called him through his Dark Mark. Izar grinned lightly when he watched Snape's scowl deepen when the man noticed the occupants in the tent. Izar struggled to sit up and watch their expressions, but his vision began to blur and his eyelids drooped.

Beside him, Regulus crouched down next to him, a comforting hand still on his shoulder. "You need to stay awake, Izar," Regulus murmured softly. "Wait until Severus sees to you."

Izar moaned softly in disagreement.

His eyes blinked up at Riddle as the man turned to look down at the situation. Suddenly, cool fingers pressed to Izar's forehead and magic seemed to cushion his head and cool his headache. "Sleep child," Riddle murmured as his fingers ghosted across Izar's eyelids, shutting them in the process.

He didn't need to be told twice.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar slumped against his pillows, sneering grumpily at the far wall of the infirmary. He had been moved from the tent outside to the infirmary a few hours after Professor Snape had tended to his internal wounds. After waking up from the sleep Riddle put him under, Izar had been _thrilled _to notice his two favorite blondes by his bedside.

"How are you feeling, Izar?" Daphne began.

On his other side, Izar could feel Draco's anger at not being the first one to ask.

This was just what he needed after the events from today. His head still throbbed and his sensitivity to auras hadn't dimmed. And now he had another confrontation ahead of him with Draco and Daphne that he didn't want to deal with just yet.

Thinking on confrontations, he briefly pondered on what had transpired today with Lily Potter.

Izar wouldn't deny the fact that he had been relieved to see Lily's strong personality. If he had seen the weak woman he had in the Department of Mysteries, he would have been disappointed in his father for ever seeing something in that Mudblood. He would have seriously questioned Regulus' sanity for perusing the redhead if Lily had been sniffling and begging witch.

But she had been the opposite. Her remorse for what she did to Izar was true, he knew as such from her aura. She had admitted that she made mistakes in her past when it came to him and his childhood.

Izar had been impressed with her composure and her ability to keep a mask. Yet, his impressiveness with her had ended there. He knew Lily was controlled mindlessly by Dumbledore. Maybe she hadn't been controlled in school. Maybe she had been a witch who saw shades of grey and had understood the darker side to magic. But as soon as she stepped foot in Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, her independence had diminished completely.

She was a mere servant to Dumbledore's gentle and smooth manipulations. Izar always saw Dumbledore for being a dangerous manipulator with his gentle demeanor. The man had an air about him that made others want to approach him with their problems and troubles. They wanted him to protect them. But his protection came at a price.

_If Lily is nothing but a servant to Dumbledore, than what are you to Voldemort? What is the difference between you and her? _

Izar's lips thinned. He may be a follower to Voldemort, but Izar had kept his independence after his servitude. He didn't allow the Mark on his arm to stop him from making his own choices, his own decisions, and his own opinions. Lily had allowed Dumbledore to pull her strings. She had allowed him to manipulate her.

Izar cut his strings from Voldemort's grasp the very first day they met. He had set their relationship to one as equality- or- as equal as it could be between them. There would never be a solid equal standing between the two, but at least Izar had the ability to come up with his own assumption.

He was nothing like Lily.

But what if it had been her own choice to go after Regulus like that? What if Dumbledore hadn't manipulated her?

It didn't matter. Izar would still despise her for what she _did _to Regulus. No matter if she had apologized to Izar about abandoning him, she had admitted she felt no regret for what she had done to Regulus. No man deserves that, Izar's _father _did not deserve that.

Over winter holidays, Voldemort had teased Izar about having a complex of protecting the people he cared for. Izar had denied it then, but looking back at the Dark Lord's observation, he realized the man had been correct. It goaded him to admit it, but Izar did care for his father. Having such an emotional attachment was a bit frightening, especially when he vowed he never wanted to have such an influential person in his life.

There was no turning back now. Regulus needed Izar and Izar needed Regulus.

"Izar?" Daphne asked, concern lacing her tone with Izar's continued silence.

His sneer deepened. Did he care for Daphne? When she had been attacked at the Yule Ball, Izar claimed he had cared for her. Now that she was healthy and stable, Izar had a clear mind to really see if he held her in high regard. Thinking on it briefly, he knew there was a small attachment he had for her, but it wasn't as strong as the one he shared with Regulus.

_And Voldemort? _

Izar blanched at the stray thought, turning his mind elsewhere before he could answer that.

"I'm sorry," Izar spoke dryly. "I didn't realize you were speaking to me again." Next to him, Draco snorted.

Daphne flushed and lowered her eyes. "I suppose I should apologize for avoiding you on the train and in classes." Mossy green eyes, similar to Lily Potter's, looked across the bed at Draco. She eyed him distastefully before raising her chin and meeting Izar's eyes. "I was just angry that you didn't tell me you were a Black and…" she trailed off again, glancing at Draco.

"You were angry that my father declined the betrothal." Izar guessed, a dull throb erupting behind his eyes. His vision had cleared considerably since Professor Snape had attended to him, but he still had a slight headache and his fever had yet to disappear. But he had those symptoms before the concussion, why should they have gone?

She seemed uncomfortable to continue the line of conversation, but she sensed Izar's reluctance to engage in it himself. "I…"

Daphne was never lost for words.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Could you please leave us, Draco?" No response was heard from the boy next to him. Izar removed his fingers from his face and turned to look at stormy grey eyes. "Malfoy—,"

"Why should I?" Draco sat up from his chair, crossing his arms over his chest like a stubborn child.

Izar leaned forward, his eyes bright. "I have no time for _children_." He knew it was a low blow, especially when he knew Draco constantly tried to prove to his father that he wasn't a child any longer. Izar supposed it was also salt to the wound he had inflicted during winter holidays when he claimed Draco wouldn't be able to handle a relationship with him. The boy tried to prove himself by playing mind games with Izar on the train to Hogwarts.

Draco's face closed off and he stood. "I'm glad to see you're doing alright," the boy whispered before giving a sharp nod and turning his heel.

Issuing a quiet sigh, Izar watched as the boy left the infirmary. "I don't want to be in an arranged marriage with you, Daphne." He looked at her, finding that her tension had obliviated considerably now that Draco was gone. "I have no romantic feelings for you."

He could have softened up his rejection, he supposed. But he was in no way eager to have this conversation. Didn't he just have the same conversation with Draco not too long ago? Not only was Izar turning them down because he felt nothing for them, but he was also protecting them from Voldemort. The man claimed he didn't get jealous over "hormonal teenaged boys and women", but Izar knew the Dark Lord could be sadistic and possessive.

As much as they grated on his nerves, he didn't want to see the Dark Lord inflicting any harm.

There was that protective complex again…

"I don't have any romantic feelings for you either, Izar," Daphne replied softly, surprising Izar. "Don't get me wrong, you're handsome, _incredibly _handsome, and you're intelligent and powerful. I admire your beauty and find myself wanting to be as close to you as possible."

Izar lifted an eyebrow.

"I know it sounds like I have feelings for you, but I don't. Not sexual," she claimed. "You've been a good friend to me. You may be a sarcastic bastard at times, most the time, but you're true. And you understand me more than anyone else." She sniffed, raising her shoulders. "You know that I strive to be independent and successful."

"I do," Izar conceded. "You're a remarkable witch, Daphne. I know you'll go far." She could go even further if she actually picked up a book as well…

"That's why I want to arrange a marriage with you."

Izar blinked, frowning at her train of thought. "Enlighten me," he spoke stiffly.

She shifted in her chair, trying to get as much height as she could. "My father wants to assign me a betrothed by the time I graduate. That's in a year, Izar. I can't imagine being married off to the Goyle family or the Crabbe family or any other male. With you, I know we can be legally married, but it would be more of a friendship than anything."

His headache grew worse. "Daphne…" he started calmly.

"We don't even have to touch each other, Izar," she continued as if she knew he was getting ready to reject her. "I understand you enjoy your privacy and you understand my need for independence. With any other man, I would feel bound and trapped in my own home. He wouldn't let me go off by myself to political parties or allow me to leave the manor for a long period of time. He'd want me to be a docile _bitch _who bares his children."

Tear welled in her eyes and she gave a light sob.

Izar froze.

He was never good with this type of thing… this _comforting _thing. Crying girls, especially, was something he had no experience with. He was uncomfortable as he reached over and patted her hand. "That's not always true, Daphne."

"Of course it is," she growled, her eyes flashing. Tears were absent in her eyes.

He removed his hand abruptly, a bit startled at her sudden shift of mood. He heard boys always complaining at how easily girls shifted moods. Izar never believed he would have to experience that, but it was staring him in the face _now. _But then again, Voldemort was rather prone to quick mood changes as well.

"Pure-blood males are always like that. They don't believe woman have a right to run the household, to have their own minds and opinions. Don't get me wrong, Izar, I want children eventually, but on my own terms and at my own time."

"I don't want children," he blurted out hotly. He blinked, wondering just _who _was the emotional female before he cleared his throat. "I mean, I'm not ready to think about children right now." _He was fifteen. _"Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy aren't like that," he mused as he remembered the beautiful Narcissa Malfoy. "Narcissa is a very poised and independent witch…"

"And Lucius controls her," Daphne replied sharply. "She tries not to let it show, but she's just as controlled as the other women. She can just carry his control gracefully. I want to be like Blaise Zabini's mother and Kristine Steinar. Both women are independent."

Izar sat against his pillows, musing over Daphne's words. He had to search his mind to remember who Kristine Steinar was, but it came to him quickly. She was Lukas' mother, the very same woman he had seen at the Yule Ball. He remembered Daphne telling him Kristine had poisoned Bjørn Steinar's original fiancé in order to get Bjørn's hand. And Blaise's mother… well… she went through her seventh husband a few years ago.

Charcoal-green eyes looked up at Daphne seriously. "If I marry you, Daphne, are you planning on poisoning me to death? Because the hints you're trying to lay down aren't very subtle."

She slapped his arm, a crimson stain to her cheeks. A light smile danced across her lips. "You know what I mean, Izar. Those women are dangerous and absolutely stunning with their sovereignty."

He pondered on Daphne. Although Izar wasn't well educated on pure-blood marriages, he didn't believe all of the males were as dominating as Daphne claimed them to be. He wondered if Daphne's fear of marrying was due to her father's treatment of her mother or just something she picked up on herself. True fear came from Daphne when she spoke of being bound in marriage with an unknown male.

Izar understood her reasons for wanting to marry him, but… it couldn't happen.

She must have caught on his thoughts, for she leaned forward, grasping at Izar's hand. Her eyes were desperate. "We may have to live in the same house, but you can have all the lovers you want, Izar. You don't even have to look at me. You don't even have to _touch _me."

He felt pity for her, a deep sense of sorrow in his stomach as he reached forward and touched her cheek. "Are you really willing to put yourself through that harsh of an isolation just to avoid getting married, Daphne?"

Her eyes were swimming in tears again, but her jaw was locked stubbornly. "I would do anything."

He thought back to Daphne and her romantic relationships. Although Daphne always appreciated handsome men, and boldly commented on them, she had never once had a boyfriend or tried to initiate a relationship. Daphne was a stunning witch; surely a boy would have approached her before. But now he saw that it was Daphne's intentions to remain single. Looking into her emotional gaze, he wondered how far her emotional scars were. Did she not think herself worthy of a decent marriage? Did her father abuse her mother? Did her father abuse _her_?

"Does your father hurt you, Daphne?" he questioned softly, his palm still cupping her cheek.

Her eyes widened and her aura gave a pulse of shock. "No," she shook her head, pulling away from Izar. "Of course he doesn't." She swallowed thickly, reaching out to clutch at Izar's shirt. "You're my best friend, Izar. I trust you…"

She avoided the topic.

He bowed his head. He was torn. He knew if he suggested that she just not marry and remain single, she would comeback with a silly pure-blood tradition.

He also understood her intentions. She didn't love him, but she trusted him. She wanted to be legally married to him, but they would still remain as friends underneath their home and be free to be with others.

But Voldemort would never see it as that…

"I can't, Daphne," he looked up at her. Her expression mirrored the darkening of her aura. "You wouldn't understand my reasons if I told you. I—,"

Reaching forward, she placed a finger to his mouth. She stood up, looking just as graceful as ever. "Just promise me you'll think about it, Izar. Please."

Even if she removed her fingers, he couldn't respond. He just nodded. She nodded back, offering him a smile before she slowly left the infirmary.

He sat back against the pillows, exhausted.

* * *

**{Notes}** Things will go rather quickly from here. I mean, quick until we get to the end of the school year- not the end of the story. The Third Task will be approaching in a few chapters...

Thanks so much for reading ;)


	30. Part I Chapter 30

This is a very long chapter- and it's also my response to your reviews from last chapter ;)

**Chapter Thirty **

Sweaty and shaking fists slammed against the stone wall in an angry desperation. Labored breaths clashed with the silent corridors as a boy struggled to put himself together.

_Just go to Snape or Riddle… _

No, he couldn't. There was something that tore at him when he had to bend his neck and ask for help.

Moreover, Snape wasn't on Izar's list of trusted men. Since Lily had informed Izar of the spy for the Order, Izar had stayed wary of the man. Regulus told him Snape was a double agent, an agent who gave a bit of information to Dumbledore about Voldemort, but not enough to do damage to the Dark. Voldemort was aware of Snape's spy status and told the potions master what he can and cannot share with Dumbledore.

Nevertheless, Izar still felt uncertain about Snape, especially because his concussion symptoms had started to flare back up a few weeks after Snape's treatment. That had been four months ago. At first, Izar had put it off as the symptoms he had been feeling ever since Christmas; but those symptoms consisted of a fever, chills, and an occasional headache. It was nothing like _this. _His stomach was weak, his head was full of painful aches, and his body was slick with sweat.

He licked his lips, trying to steady the dizziness.

When Izar had noticed the concussion flare ups, he began to brew his own potions that would stabilize the inner bruising and bleeding in his brain. The concussion relievers took a few weeks to brew, so he had only ingested two batches so far.

The potions hadn't done anything to dull the pain or level off the symptoms.

There was always the option of going to Regulus if he couldn't bend his neck to Riddle. But Regulus wasn't near Hogwarts. The man had no authority to stay in the castle, especially because he wasn't a high-end politician or professor. Dumbledore didn't see fit to allow him to stay either. There were occasions when Regulus visited Sirius during the weekends and Izar got to spend time with him, but those visits became less and less— almost as if Dumbledore had gotten wind of them.

Izar breathed softly, his palm dancing across the sharp stone wall. A few stones nicked the soft flesh of his hand, but he paid no heed. He felt so distant from everyone, especially Riddle, Sirius, and Regulus. There had been no time for conversations with those men. There always seemed to be something stopping him from engaging a conversation with those men. And the common factor pointed to Dumbledore.

Every day, after completing his homework, he seemed to favor the small marsh at the opposite end of Hogwarts' grounds; the same marsh Voldemort had brought him earlier in the year. It calmed him for a time before he had to go back in the castle.

Daphne was remaining close and constantly asked if he was feeling alright. It would seem as if the conversation they shared in the Hospital Wing four months ago hadn't stopped her from acting normally around him. They never broached the topic of the arranged marriage and Izar felt no hurry to do so. He hadn't come to a decision as of yet.

Draco, on the other hand, kept his distance.

He pressed his forehead against the corridor wall, urging himself that he needed to pull himself together. He had a meeting with the Hogwarts Board of Governors in a few minutes. Apparently, Izar's request for taking the NEWTs early had finally gone through. Izar would need to meet with them today and formally request permission to take the exams early in order to graduate this year. They would make a decision today.

"_Izar…" _

Izar straightened up, refusing to turn to look. The voice he had been hearing happened rarely, but enough to remind him that something was not _right_. He had his suspicions that this voice had to do with the Veil and Cygnus' Curse. Or perhaps it was an enemy who had the ability to warp magic as easily as Izar.

He felt the aura come closer and chilling goose bumps raised the back of his neck. He was unsure if it was a spirit of some kind, or something else entirely. The question of this apparition's gender was also unsolved. Izar first thought it was a male when he heard it during the winter holidays and on the train to Hogwarts. But the more he heard it, the more he realized that it was a raspy whisper, something that could be either male or female.

Or maybe there was no gender to this apparition. Perhaps it was just magic in a cloaked-like form.

"Leave me," Izar rasped out, sounding just as hoarse as the apparition itself.

"_Lovely…" _

Izar turned. The world spun but he could make out the tall cloaked-like form. It was a smoky grey, almost transparent in the dark corridor. The figure moved, reaching out to Izar. Knowing what would happen if the apparition made physical contact with him, Izar put up his arms, hoping to avoid the red hand marks on his face again.

Instead, a sharp cold pain wrapped around his hand before the apparition vanished.

Controlling his breathing, Izar lowered his arms. Even in the dim light, he could see the reddening flesh on his hand. More specifically, his Black ring was sitting innocently in the middle of the visible hand print.

"Izar?"

Unable to control his flinch, Izar turned to see Cyprien Beaumont walking slowly toward him. "Cyprien?" he questioned calmly. "What are you doing here?"

The redheaded French Champion cautiously took a step closer, peering at Izar. "I had to speak with Minister Serge Roux and Headmistress Maxime and I heard you in the corridor." The boy's eyes danced across Izar's sweat-beaded forehead and then across his drawn features. "Are you alright?" Even if Cyprien manipulated his concern in form of a question, the redhead knew Izar was _far _from fine.

Nonetheless, Izar straightened up, brushing the back of his hand across his forehead to wipe off the sweat. He offered the tall boy a light grin. "Of course, just a bit tired."

"If you're sure," Cyprien murmured softly.

Izar put one foot in front of the other, giving a sharp nod. The two walked down the corridor together and Izar noticed Cyprien lag back slightly, his posture suggesting that he was ready to catch Izar if he fainted.

Did he really look that bad?

He brought up his fingers and gently pinched his cheeks to bring a bit of color. With his wand, he cast a nonverbal drying spell around his face and neck, getting rid of the sweat that lingered there. After adjusting his Ravenclaw robes and running his fingers through his hair, he smirked at the redhead. Cyprien was watching him with suspicion. Let the boy question what Izar was going through. Izar would never tell his rivalry that he was ill, no matter how obvious it may seem.

He would just need to brew another concussion reliever. Madame Pomfrey most likely had a few doses of the potion reliever already brewed, but Izar didn't trust anybody but himself. He'd rather go through the long process of brewing his own.

"Are you ready for the Third Task?" Izar questioned lightly, turning another corridor on his way to the Headmaster's office. He didn't know if Cyprien was following him because the boy was uncertain about Izar's ability to get there or if the redhead was actually heading in the same direction.

"I can't believe it's only in a few days," Cyprien began. His French accent wasn't as strong as the other Beauxbaton students, Izar noted. "But I'm feeling pretty confident about it. And you?"

Izar mused. If he was feeling like _this, _he had no chance at succeeding in the Task, especially if it was a physical competition just as much as it was magical. "Likewise," Izar responded self-assuredly. "Are you looking forward to going back home?"

Cyprien raked his fingers through his lengthy red hair and glanced down the corridor. "It will be nice to see my parents again," the boy conceded. "But I enjoyed Britain. Hogwarts is a very beautiful castle." Cyprien seemed to hesitate. "Have you found out who has targeted you in the attacks?"

Only curiosity showed through in Cyprien's expression. Izar could see no deceiving, yet the boy could be a decent actor. But then again, Izar found it highly doubtful that Cyprien was behind the attacks. If the Ravenclaw wanted to know more about the culprit, he would have to go to Riddle and get the answers. Finding the answer from the Dark Lord was impossible though, considering Izar had asked numerous times before. It still irked him that Voldemort knew who it was, or, had a very large inkling as to who it could be.

There was another who may know about the culprit.

Lukas Steinar.

The Durmstrang boy had seen Colin Creevey put the _Vesania _in Izar's cup at the Yule Ball. Granted, the Gryffindor Creevey was under the _Imperius _at the time, but Steinar may have seen more than he let on.

It was an impossible mystery to solve, especially because there were so many suspects. And Izar would rather rot in hell then ask Lukas any questions relating to the incident. He couldn't trust the Norwegian boy. He couldn't trust anybody but himself. That was why he kept his concussion symptoms a secret. He _could _go to Madame Pomfrey, but again, he found it difficult to bare his belly to anybody he didn't know.

"I have my suspicions," Izar bluffed in answer to Cyprien's question.

"It's not Steinar," Cyprien declared boldly, an amused smirk twisting his lips. "He may seem aloof and suspicious, but don't let that pretty boy fool you. You could say he has a bit of a crush on you. I'm sure he keeps his distance because he's intimidated by you and because his father would never allow it."

Izar's eyebrows shut up as he paused in his retreat to the Headmaster's office. "Is that so?" He grinned at Cyprien's nod. It shouldn't have come as much as a surprise, he supposed. They teased one another restlessly and Izar subconsciously found himself drawn to the Norwegian. Nothing serious, but enough to inform Izar that _he, _himself, had a bit of an attraction.

He was never used to these things. After fifteen years of not thinking highly upon relationships, he was often blinded to other's affections. Draco had come to a surprise to Izar, simply because he thought his distant cousin wanted to be close to him platonically, not sexually. Izar didn't possess any attraction to Draco that way. If the boy was a bit more like Lucius Malfoy, perhaps, but he believed Draco could never be close to his father's persona. Draco was more of a soft-hearted soul beneath a stubborn mask of malice.

Lukas, on the other hand, was smart and handsome. There was depth to the boy, a certain depth that drew Izar to him.

Lukas was a soft flame to Izar. A flame so soft, that Izar would only wince if he touched it.

Voldemort was a roaring flame that both seared him and chilled him. There was never any competition. And Izar hated that Voldemort held so much sway over him.

"And what makes you think that?" Izar continued his path to the Headmaster's office. He was walking at a slow pace, trying to keep steady when the rest of the world spun. He could feel the sweat start to bead at the back of his neck again.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Cyprien shot back, stopping before the stairs to the Headmaster's office.

The entrance was open, suggesting that Dumbledore had kept it open for his guests. Taking out the pocket watch Voldemort had given him, Izar glanced down at the time. The meeting would be starting in a couple of minutes.

Cyprien, sensing Izar was needed elsewhere, nodded. "I'll see you at the luncheon before the Third Task."

Izar didn't respond. The redhead turned his heel too quickly to form a proper response. Charcoal-green eyes narrowed on the Beauxbaton Champion. The boy had accompanied him to Dumbledore's office as if he were making sure Izar didn't fall flat on his face.

He didn't _need _help.

His mask shattered and his face contorted with a strong sense of vulnerability. He shakily rubbed at his face once again and swallowed the bile that settled in his throat. His stomach growled unpleasantly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten for a while. Even if he did eat, however, it wouldn't stay down. He was incredibly nauseous.

Clenching his fists and jaw, Izar squared his shoulders and walked up the stairs. The stone steps see-sawed in front of him and he had to run his hand along side the wall to keep his balance. From his position on the stairs, he could feel the auras inside before he even knew who was in there. It made his headache increase dangerously. He hesitated, wondering if there was an option to turn back around and reschedule.

But when he recognized who sat inside, he decided against it.

Riddle, Dumbledore, and Lucius Malfoy were in there, along with a few others. Izar remembered there were twelve governors on the Hogwarts Board. Would they all be there? He prayed to Merlin they weren't. If Cyprien could see how miserable he truly felt, the other politicians would have a sharper eye. There was always the option of casting a glamour. However, even if he knew all the different types of glamours and their properties, he knew he wasn't particularly decent with casting one on himself.

If he cast an inadequate glamour over his face, it would draw more attention than having no glamour at all.

"Mr. Harrison," Dumbledore greeted as soon as Izar stepped into the office. "It's good to see you made it."

The office was arranged with a long table next to the Headmaster's desk. As predicted, the whole Board had a seat behind the solid oak table. Papers were strewn across the desktop and large-feathered quills were dipped in ink jars. Most of the Board members were male; however, there were two older females who sat poised among the ten men.

Riddle was sitting at the end of the table, separated from the Board members. Next to him, Professor McGonagall sat. On the other side of Riddle, Professor Flitwick struggled to see above the top of the table.

Izar cleared his throat, catching the predatory eyes of Riddle before nodding to Dumbledore in cool greeting. "Headmaster."

The old man peered at Izar over his glasses in a concerned manner. Luckily, the Headmaster held his tongue and gestured at the lone desk sitting in front of the Board. "Please sit, Mr. Harrison," the man invited.

Izar made his way over to the desk and shakily sat down, his face a mask of indifference. As he leaned back against the chair, his eyes locked immediately with Lucius Malfoy. As always, the man was a painted portrait of poise and cold splendor. A velvet ribbon tied his long, platinum blond hair at the nape of his neck. Only Lucius Malfoy could make a bloody ribbon look masculine.

"Mr. Black," Lucius greeted, his lips curling upward as if he could sense Izar's thoughts. His cool silver eyes danced across Izar's face, most likely noting the tension and ill pallor in his expression. "Let's get right down to business, shall we?"

With a grateful nod from Izar, Lucius glanced down at the parchments in front of him. "The Hogwarts Board of Governors and I have received your formal proposal requesting permission to take your NEWTs early." Lucius looked up, sharing a meaningful look with Izar. They both knew the Dark Lord was the one to submit the proposal, not Izar.

"How old are you, Mr…" one of the women trailed off, looking uncertain as to how to address him. Harrison? Or Black?

Next to her, Lucius narrowed his sights on her, looking almost disgusted that she had taken over _his _Board.

Izar blinked heavily, feeling a bead of sweat drop down the side of his neck. "Izar Black, ma'am. And I am fifteen." It had taken a few days to correct his professors with his surname. Eventually, they all addressed him as Black, save for Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Fifteen," she repeated back at him. Stiffening straighter, she leaned forward. "Most the students who decide to take the NEWTs are seventeen, the majority are eighteen." Her face became blurry in his eyes and he tried his hardest not to squint up at her. "What made you decide to take your NEWTs early?"

It took a moment for her words to register through his murky head. "I have decided I want to graduate early, ma'am. This year."

The Board murmured and shifted.

"And rightfully so," Lucius took over naturally. "Mr. Black is a prodigy. He has already skipped a grade level this year and he has passed his OWLs with top marks at the age of fourteen." Lucius took another parchment from his stack of papers and peered down at it with exaggerated interest. "He was awarded with an 'Outstanding' in all his courses." The man's eyebrows heightened. "With the exception of one."

Izar's ears burned at the mention of the course he had passed with only an 'Acceptable'.

"History of Magic," Izar answered for the Board as he watched them shift through their papers for his scores. "I only passed with an 'Acceptable' in History of Magic."

A few quiet chuckles were issued from the Board. Lucius' own lips twisted in amusement. "Yes, Professor Binns lectures that course." Lucius' silver eyes danced across the office toward Dumbledore. The rest of the Board turned to look at the Headmaster, interested. "There has been numerous times in which we lightly suggested to replace Professor Binns. Perhaps its time we _strongly _suggest to replace the… _professor._"

Izar glanced to his right where Dumbledore stood. The Headmaster stood tall and patient, not at all affected by Lucius' sly words. Glancing back at the Board, Izar paused on Riddle. While the rest of the Board looked to Dumbledore, Riddle had his attention forward on Izar. The Ravenclaw found his pulse quickening from the sheer intensity the man was watching him with. He should have been used to the Dark Lord's strong intensity, but right now, Izar could feel those eyes pierce straight through him.

It made Izar wonder why he ever thought he could hide anything from the man. But then again, four months had passed since he manipulated the Dark Mark and the Dark Lord was still oblivious to _that. _

One man with grey hair cleared his throat. "Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick are here to offer their opinion on the subject. We would be happy to hear what you think of this situation."

Leaning heavily in his chair, Izar pursed his lips as he concentrated on McGonagall and Flitwick. His fingers tightened in his lap as he struggled to remain unaffected by Riddle's continuing stare.

McGonagall gave a sharp nod. "I was sent personally to the orphanage Mr. Black grew up at when he was ten-years-old. I informed him of Hogwarts and the wizarding world."

Izar's lip twitched in a sneer as he remembered that day. He had been engrossed with her, unable to believe that something _good _was happening to him after ten years of hell. She had come to the orphanage to inform him of Hogwarts and explain his letter. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. He had been a bit disappointed that she didn't have any outward differences than the rest of the Muggles. In fact, Lucius Malfoy was the first aura he had sensed.

But now he was able to sense every witch and wizard and their magic.

She smiled lightly at the memory. "For not being raised amongst the magical world, Mr. Black showed a very large aptitude for magic. He has surpassed many of his fellow classmates throughout the years and I truly believe he is ready to graduate early and take the NEWTs. He will make a very central figure in the wizarding world."

Izar smiled thinly at her, giving her a nod of thanks.

The same man with grey hair nodded to Flitwick. "And you, Professor Flitwick? You are the boy's Head of House."

Flitwick stood up too quickly on his chair, his stubby arms waving to regain balance when he almost tipped backwards. Riddle, not looking very pleased, caught the chair before it could fall back. Flitwick cleared his throat, flashing a grateful look to an impassive Riddle.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Black would make a fine candidate for taking his NEWTs early. I have never seen Mr. Black do less than satisfactory on his exams and homework assignments. He's a very good student."

Dumbledore frowned lightly as he sat down at his desk. There was nothing the old man could do— this was out of his control. Judging from the man's expression, Dumbledore knew as much.

"Mr. Black," the stern woman demanded his attention. "What made you decide to graduate early? What will you do afterward?" She picked her quill up and looked imploringly at Izar's dazed expression. "Mr. Black?" she repeated in question.

Izar snapped himself out of his haze and nodded. "I find myself bored at Hogwarts. It's a wonderful school and I've always felt at home here, but many days I don't have anything to do. I've exhausted the curriculum here and need to find something that will occupy my time." He paused and nonchalantly wiped his sleeve across his neck. Sweat absorbed the black material and he brought his arm back down to his lap. "As far as what I plan to do after Hogwarts, I have a position reserved with the Unspeakables."

He noticed most the men and women tensed and buried their attention to their papers. That was a typical reaction after hearing the word 'Unspeakable'. Many wizards didn't want to hear anything related to the Department of Mysteries and they closed up afterward. It wasn't forbidden to inform others of one's occupation to the Unspeakables, it just wasn't suggested. As long as he didn't speak of the things they worked on, he was within his rights to inform the Board of his occupation.

"And how often do you study for your exams, Mr. Black?" The same woman asked. She seemed to be the only one, besides Lucius, who spoke up for the Board. Izar could imagine the other members were just puppets for Lucius to pull to his own amusement.

Izar looked down at his desk. "I don't study," he confessed. "I find the lectures in class and the homework the professors hand out are enough material to prepare me for the exam." He didn't bother telling him that he had drowned himself in books and notes the first few years of his Hogwarts experience. Once he realized that knowledge was power, he had absorbed as much information as he could until he was starved for more.

"I don't see any reason to hold Mr. Black back—,"

"He's fifteen," the grey-haired woman interrupted Lucius.

Izar couldn't muster the energy to smirk at the affronted look on Lucius' face at being cut off.

"Mr. Black could be _thirteen _and still graduate early," Lucius hissed beneath his breath. "Surely, just because your granddaughter struggles to pass her Transfiguration OWL, doesn't mean you should hold back an able boy." Lucius turned to look down his nose at Izar, a predatory gleam to his eyes. "This child is destined for great things."

Izar kept his eyes downcast, unable to lift his chin without his head falling backward. Even if he wasn't looking, he could feel the female Board member become flustered. The woman sniffed, shuffling through her papers.

"You mistake my personal motives with my professional, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Black already has the Triwizard Tournament to deal with. He's already skipped his Fifth year in order to enter his Sixth. Not to mention, the personal issues with his parentage. Too much stress on a young boy does not sit well. What more can he handle until he breaks?"

_It already looks as if he's breaking… _

She didn't need to say it, simply because Izar could almost feel the unspoken words.

His head remained bowed as he felt the overwhelming nausea sink in his stomach. With pale fingers, he caressed his fingerless glove on his left hand, taking care to ghost over the Celtic band on his finger. Indeed. What more could he handle? And to think she hadn't named half of his problems.

As much as he always wanted to remain strong, to keep himself together, he could feel himself start to crack.

He looked up at her from beneath moistened strands of hair. "I think…" he trailed off, his voice catching.

Behind the Board, he could see the cloaked-like shadow. A high-pitched chuckle escaped from the apparition before it raced across the Headmaster's office and vanished as it came within a few inches from Izar.

He blinked, his pulse accelerating.

Charcoal-green eyes froze over in a cool fury before he lifted his chin. "I can deal with much more, ma'am. With all due respect, I believe it should be _my _choice if I want to graduate early and take the NEWTs. I know I'm ready to take such a step." He held her gaze, challenging her to say anything more against his word.

Her brown eyes softened as she looked down at the table. "I am only worried for your well-being, Mr. Black. But if this is what you wish, then I think our work here is done." She turned to the rest of the Board. "All in favor of allowing Mr. Black to take his NEWTs?"

All but two people raised their hands. The grey-haired woman and a younger looking male kept their hands in their laps. Dumbledore pursed his lips at the outcome, but wisely stayed silent.

"Then it's settled," Lucius murmured richly. "Mr. Black will take the NEWTs along with the other Seventh year students. We will be looking forward to seeing you graduate with high marks, Mr. Black. Good luck."

Izar quickly stood up, his hand reaching behind him to steady himself on the desk. He quickly bowed at the waist, ignoring the spinning room. "Thank you."

Without so much as another word or glance, Izar swept from the room. He heard his name being called from behind him, but he hurried from the spiraling staircases and into the cool corridors of Hogwarts.

"Mr. Black," the voice called again.

Izar brought up his shoulders, knowing it was Lucius who was following at his heels. Not too far from Malfoy, Riddle was stalking about. Ignoring the two men, Izar turned a quick corner and tried his best to escape the blond-haired man. He didn't want to deal with all this at the moment. And he especially didn't want _those _two men to see him in such a vulnerable state. All he needed at the moment was to lay his head against something cold and bury himself in bed.

Another dose of the concussion reliever should also be brewed.

His altered Mark stirred. Izar placed his hand on the Mark through his sleeve, trying his best to hide a smile at the tickling sensation. It _tickled_. Granted, he knew he charmed it to do as such, but his skin was incredibly sensitive today.

"Izar, stop this," Lucius reprehended as if he were scolding a child. "I am only trying to assist you."

Izar stopped his retreat and stiffly waited for the man to approach him from behind. The corridor he was standing in wasn't used very often by the students and it was dimly lit. "I don't need any _help_, Mr. Malfoy," Izar murmured as he felt the taller male come to a stop from behind him. "You have done enough for me today."

The man's gloved hand descended on his lithe shoulder, squeezing it possessively. Lucius danced around Izar, his hand still taking residence on his shoulder. Malfoy's face seemed to glow in the darkened corridor as he surveyed Izar. With his opposite hand, Lucius brought up his cane and moved away the hair in Izar's face. "You are ill. Why haven't you sought for help?"

"Because the boy has a stubbornness that morphs into _stupidity,_" Riddle purred from the shadows.

Izar's lips thinned as he continued to meet the liquid silver eyes of Lucius. "It's just a common cold," Izar defended himself.

He knew lies were never possible with Voldemort around, yet he attempted one anyway. Perhaps he knew Voldemort wouldn't have believed him because he wasn't at all taken aback when his body was pushed harshly up against the wall. Riddle's hand cushioned his head, stopping it from slamming against the wall… almost as if he _knew _Izar's head was bothering him and didn't want to do anymore damage.

"You _knew_," Izar hissed in accusation, staring up at the Undersecretary.

"I knew your head was bothering you? No, but I had my suspicions. I can see the symptoms of a concussion, child. Your pupils are unevenly enlarged and you're holding your head unusually still as if it pains you." Dark eyes of Riddle narrowed. "Tell me. Everything."

**{Death of Today}**

And Izar _had _told the Dark Lord everything. He told him that he was experiencing the concussion symptoms once again and that he believed Snape was somehow involved with his current condition.

Which is why Izar was peeved to find himself laying face down in Severus Snape's couch. He glowered and sneered into the pillow his head was cushioned upon. Above him, Snape, Riddle, and Malfoy were looming, staring down at the image of his brain. Snape had cast a scan around his head and a magical image of his brain was materialized for everyone to see.

"What is that?" Lucius murmured in intrigue.

"I assumed as much," Snape's voice drawled from above Izar. Before the Ravenclaw could turn around and see what caught their attention on the brain scan, cold fingers pressed his head further into the pillow. The appendages then ghosted upward and pressed against the bottom of his skull. Izar hissed as a searing pain traveled up his neck and into his brain.

"Right here, near the cerebellum and the medulla, there is a liquid sac full of _Aconitum Folliculus._"

"_Acontium Folliculus_?" Izar murmured, reaching up to touch where Snape's fingers were just located. Before his fingers could ghost over the tender area, a hand swatted his fingers away. Izar glowered once again, turning his face out of the pillow and peering at the three adults standing over him. "What is that? I've never heard of it," he admitted, a bit ashamed. But judging from Lucius' and Riddle's oblivious faces, he didn't feel so bad.

"_Acontium Folliculus_ is a drug, or more particularly, a poison. Its properties are drawn to the human brain before attaching to a bruised or bleeding wound outside the tissue. Because of your concussion, the _Acontium_ was drawn to the part of your brain where you damaged it in your fall." Snape informed sharply, looking down his hooked nose at Izar. "The sac on your brain grows more swollen when it comes in contact with an excessive amount of the ingredient, asphodel."

Izar blanched, turning around and sitting up. "Asphodel? That's the main ingredient in the draught I've been brewing for my concussion reliever." He watched as Riddle became more and more withdrawn. The Undersecretary seemed to be in his own mind, it was almost frightening to look at. "That means," Izar continued, dread in his stomach. "That someone injected me with the _Acontium Folliculus_."

Lucius Malfoy frowned. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

Snape's dark eyes danced to Lucius. "Someone must have injected Mr. Black with the _Acontium Folliculus_ right after his concussion during the Second Task. As soon as the _Acontium_ was in his system, it traveled through his bloodstream and up toward his brain where the wound was located. After which, the _Acontium_ attached itself on the brain damage and grew in size when it came in contact with asphodel— which happens to be the main ingredient in the concussion reliever."

Lucius' eyes widened partially and he looked back down at Izar. "So with each dose of the concussion reliever, the _Acontium_ grows in size?"

"That is what I just stated, Lucius, yes," Snape drawled bitingly.

"Subsequently, someone knew Izar would be taking the concussion reliever in hopes of getting rid of the concussion symptoms. The _Acontium_ would only be growing in size with the more doses he takes in because of the ingredient, asphodel. If Izar hadn't brewed his own potions and had taken the school's pre-brewed potions, it would probably be much larger." Lucius continued as if he hadn't noticed Severus' biting comment. "And what…" Lucius' eyed Izar a bit fearfully. "Will happen when the _Acontium_ reaches its maximum size?"

Severus opened his mouth but the Dark Lord cut him off.

"It explodes," Riddle commented harshly, crimson eyes staining the glamoured brown. "Judging from the size of it currently, it should start leaking poison through the boy's brain. If Izar were to hit his head once again, the sac would likely explode as well. The more liquid inside the sac, the easier it is to damage Izar's mind completely."

Riddle had his arms crossed over his chest and he kept his eyes locked on Izar. The younger wizard looked down. "Who injected me with it, then?" He looked back up at Riddle accusingly. "You know who is behind the attacks, yet you don't do anything about it. At least _tell _me. I deserve that much."

Snape and Lucius stiffened at the tone of voice Izar had used with the Dark Lord. Surprisingly enough, Riddle remained calm. "You will known soon enough, I can promise you that much."

"All these attacks," Snape began, "have been geared at not necessarily killing Mr. Black, but destroying his mind. Whoever is behind this, wants your most important asset to the Dark obliviated."

Riddle's aura was overwhelming. Izar struggled to keep upright in the face of such Dark magic tainting the air. "Is it Lily?" Izar guessed. "She was right by my bedside when I woke up from the Second Task. Or…" he lifted his chin, realizing. "It was the Healer."

"It was," Riddle conceded. "But he was working for _them_. Your Mudblood mother had nothing to do with these attacks." He turned his shoulder on Izar, searching Snape. "I trust there is a remedy for this?"

Izar slumped against the couch, closing his eyes. He tried to calm himself when the Dark Lord avoided his questions once again. He almost didn't hear Snape's response to the query in his state of anger.

"A simple, yet painful solution," Snape murmured. "There is another poison that neutralizes the _Acontium_ when they interact. _Cicuta _is a common poison that will kill off the _Acontium _sac in his brain. However, it will be…" the man trailed off, no doubt looking at Izar's closed eyes. "Most painful. The toxins will need to escape through his pores, likely rivaling the sensation of acid passing through skin. There is also the risk that the _Cicuta _will not neutralize all the _Acontium_, resulting in brain damage nonetheless."

Izar's lips twisted bitterly. "What other option do we have?" Slowly, he opened his eyelids and gazed at the three men before him. He found himself wishing Regulus was there, but the man was away from Hogwarts. "From what I remember, the _Cicuta _isn't very difficult to brew and it doesn't take too long…"

"No," Snape agreed. "I already have a base prepared from a different potion with similar properties. It should be completed within a few minutes at best under direct flame." Direct flame wasn't recommended for beginners and even intermediate potion brewers tended to avoid it. With direct flame, the potion brewer had to work twice as quickly.

"And four hands will surely make it go even faster," Riddle mused. "Lucius, why don't you assist Severus with the potion?" It wasn't so much a question as it was an order.

Both elite Death Eaters stayed stubbornly still in their retreat to the potions room, their expressions mirroring what they truly thought about working together. Lucius didn't want to get his hands dirty and Snape didn't want Lucius to get in his way. If Izar wasn't so lethargic, he might have snickered.

"_Quickly," _Riddle hissed, not in the least bit amused with their hesitation.

Snape and Malfoy turned their heel and escaped to the adjoining room where the potions laboratory was settled. Izar watched them go through half-lidded eyes, not excited about the upcoming process. Acid seeping from his pores? It sounded extremely ghastly and painful. And to make matters even better, the _Cicuta _may not even neutralize all the _Acontium_, resulting in brain damage anyway.

Even so, a sense of calm settled over him.

That was, until Riddle loomed closer to him.

Izar gave a light grunt in resistance and he moved his head away to the side. The man's aura was far too overpowering. However, it seemed as if Voldemort intended him to turn away, for his nose traced the outer shell of Izar's ear.

"I've been incredibly patient all year, Izar," the man's voice was almost inaudible in its fury. "I have stood by and watched as my enemies have attacked you not only once, but three times. Now that the time is right, I can answer. This will not happen again. They won't get away with this…"

Riddle kept his lips near Izar's ear but his hands also joined in the fun. One hand clutched possessively at Izar's neck and the other ran through his sweat-soaked hair, pulling at it gently. Izar's eyes blinked closed and he became limp and overwhelmed with the man's dark presence. He felt goose bumps paint across his skin and he tried to stop himself from trembling. He didn't know if he succeeded in holding still or not, he was long gone from this world.

And yet… the man's next words reached the deepest parts in his mind.

Lips seared the sensitive skin under his ear as Riddle suckled and nipped. "I'll make them _scream _for you, child." There was such a strong promise in his voice, a promise that was not full of hope and determination, but one full of darkness and menace.

Izar tipped back his neck. Was it in submission? Passion? Or exhaustion? Perhaps a combination of all three. And with a sense of dizziness, Izar reached out and clawed at Riddle's hair, urging him forward until their lips locked. It was a short kiss, but one full of passion and thrill.

They pulled away, both their faces flushed. Riddle, his hand still on Izar's neck, surveyed him in consideration. "You're angry with me," the man mused darkly.

"You're a right bastard," Izar admitted weakly, leaning further into Snape's couch. "I hate that you aren't telling me _anything, _like I'm some lowly Death Eater."

Riddle considered this. The longer the man remained silent, the angrier Izar became. _Was _he only a lowly Death Eater? Granted, he was 'supposedly' the Dark Lord's mate, but Riddle had admitted that he didn't _need _Izar like most creatures needed their mates. Izar was only a member of the second tier in the Death Eater group, he was many, _many _years Riddle's junior, and he was only with the Death Eater scene for less than a year.

Why wouldn't he be a lowly Death Eater? What else _would _he be?

Izar hated both himself and Riddle just then.

Before either could retort, Snape swept into the room with a goblet full of a foul smelling potion. Lucius was distancing himself from the potion, a bit of sweat beading his forehead. The blond dabbed a handkerchief across his brow looking as dignified as ever.

Riddle moved back, watching the proceedings behind his cheater glasses. His posture was stiff, looking as if he were going to pounce.

Snape cast a quick charm at Izar. Bringing up a hand to his throat, Izar felt his throat contract. "It will keep the potion down where it belongs," the man responded briskly. He passed Izar the goblet. "I suggest drinking quickly."

Izar looked down at the murky pink liquid, turning his head away as a wave of nausea hit him. It smelt _horrible. _He swallowed thickly, staring at the far wall before quickly tipping the contents in his mouth. Not soon after, he tore his face away from the half-drunken potion and gagged.

"Hippogriff _piss_," he moaned. He retched, but thanks to Snape's spell, nothing came out. His body was trembling uncontrollably as he clutched the warm goblet in his hand.

"Considering you've never tasted the direct urine of a Hippogriff, I find your comparison rather impractical," Snape drawled, stepping closer to the hunched over Ravenclaw. The man placed a hand on Izar's bowed head, almost in a caressing manner. "You need to drink the rest, Mr. Black, or your risk of brain damage will increase. The last thing we need is your father foaming at the mouth through the halls of Hogwarts. I daresay he'd resemble his brother if those circumstances come to pass."

Izar grunted with his face between his knees. He kept a limp grasp of the goblet but he knew he needed to drink the rest. His stomach was weak and the thought of consuming _anything, _let alone the foul potion, made him shiver in disgust.

He lifted his head, a determined line creasing his lips before he gulped down the rest. As soon as the potion was gone, the goblet slipped from his slack fingers. Snape caught it before it could hit the ground.

Izar sniffed, closing his eyes. "I'd like to do this in the bathroom, by myself." Izar spoke as confidently as he could manage. There was no way in hell he would sweat toxins and scream bloody murder with Riddle and Malfoy around. If he _had _to have supervision, he'd rather have Snape watch over him. Despite Izar's shaky trust with the man, he understood that his life wasn't in danger with Snape.

He just didn't know what side the professor was on.

"I think not," Riddle murmured, leaving no room for argument.

"I think," Izar snapped back. His temper was at its edge— a temper he knew he didn't possess easily. "You can grant me a bit of privacy if you can't tell me who is behind these attacks."

He held the gaze of the Dark Lord, not at all frightened when he saw Riddle's aura begin to darken. Whether it was from Izar's sharp tongue or the situation in general, he didn't know. Lucius and Snape seemed to stiffen and lean away from the Dark Lord, but Izar held himself assertively even when the Dark Lord's aura reached toward him threateningly.

Izar stood up with his chin held high, daring the man to do anything. But Riddle remained motionless and silent as he watched Izar unfasten his outer cloak. With quick fingers, Izar loosened his blue and bronze tie before unbuttoning his white collared shirt. Throwing the Dark Lord a last cold stare, Izar made his way to the loo. Before he crossed the threshold of the cold bathroom, he toed off his shoes.

Snape motioned for Izar to step into the tub and then proceeded to turn his back on his student to give him a bit of privacy as Izar began pulling off his sweater vest. As the fabric dropped on the ground outside the tub, Izar heard Riddle from outside the bathroom.

"My old friend," Riddle murmured to Lucius. "After twenty years, I believe it's finally time."

Still clothed in his white collared shirt, Izar watched through the open door as Lucius began to drop. As soon as Lucius hit his knees, Izar's skin began to sweat a lilac purple. He began shaking uncontrollably with the pain, but remained standing as he watched Lucius' face break into a gleeful smile.

"My Lord… I shall inform the others. We have planned this for so long…" Lucius looked up at Riddle through strands of blond hair. "We will make the wizarding world tremble before us, before you."

Izar inhaled sharply, struggling to control himself. Did Lucius know everything? Of course the blond _knew. _Malfoy was in Voldemort's Inner Circle. It was difficult for Izar to come to the conclusion that despite being the 'mate' to the Dark Lord, he was still lower in rank than the other gold-masked Death Eaters. Obviously Voldemort didn't trust him with such vital information. If he had trusted Izar, perhaps the Ravenclaw wouldn't even be in this situation.

His fingers resembled dancing spiders as he reached for the shower facet and turned on the spray of cold water. It was a relief to his burning skin. As his hair matted in his face, he met Riddle's eyes through the open door.

The two stared at one another, not willing to be the first to look away. Izar's pain and illness got the better of his temper.

_I'm nothing but your bloody _puppet, Izar thought spitefully as he gave a strangled gasp. Throwing his arm out toward the door, his wandless magic slammed the door shut, cutting off any contact he had with the Dark Lord.

He collapsed in the tub as the toxins became too difficult to handle standing upright. Through the spray of the water, he turned to look at Snape. The man had his back to Izar. With both hands balancing on the vanity before him, Snape breathed deeply. Onyx eyes caught his through the reflection of the mirror and Izar was surprised by the expression.

It was unreadable in Izar's mental state, but it was softer than Izar had ever seen it.

Izar tore his eyes away from the man and laid himself down on the shower floor. He shook and trembled as the painful acid seeped through his pores and washed down the drain. He wouldn't scream. He _couldn't_.

Instead, he whimpered inaudibly and curled in on himself as the cold water continued to beat down upon him.

**{Death of Today} SLIGHT TORTURE. **

"Good work," Voldemort praised lightly as he swept from the entrance way of his hideout. Behind him, his Death Eaters bowed low in gratitude, shivering at the Dark Lord's praise.

_Sniveling fools, but useful fools. _

Voldemort gave a lipless smile as he swept dramatically down the steps and into the basement. One would call it a dungeon with the lack of windows and light and the heavy atmosphere that hung about the closed-off cells, but it had many exits that the prisoners were otherwise oblivious to. Voldemort considered the long corridor before making his way down to the only occupied cell.

Despite these prisoners being the first step of his regime, he found his mind struggling to focus. He had a child residing at Hogwarts, fighting to keep his sanity in tact from the poison running through his system. Voldemort was secure enough with himself to admit he was at fault for what Izar was going through at the moment; just as he had been at fault for the last two attacks. No matter how many eyes he had on the boy, _she _would get the better of him. _She _would threaten the only wizard Voldemort wanted to survive in this war.

His temper grew and he grasped hold of it, soaking in the darkness. It had been too long since he surrendered into the darkness, too long since he acted on it.

He stopped before the sealed-off door and focused his mind at the task in hand. He trusted Severus to owl him of Izar's mental health when the cleansing was over. Now wasn't the time to let his sentimental feelings get in the way.

No, now was the time to extract his revenge.

Waving his hand, the cell door opened and he stepped inside the dimly lit room. His cruel smile stretched as he eyed the two fools chained to the wall.

"A pleasure to see you both," he murmured as he glided closer to them. His foot kicked an object on the ground and he paused, eyeing the eyeglasses. Giving a disproving tsk, he bent down and picked up the thick glasses. "We can't have you blind to the events about to transpire, Serge, can we?"

"Who are you?" Serge Roux demanded as crimson stained his usual pale face. He licked his lips as Voldemort stepped closer. "I should have you know, the French Ministry will hunt your insane arse down. You hear me? You won't get away with this."

"For being the French Minister," Voldemort began. "Your security is awfully light, almost embarrassingly so." His crimson eyes took in the woman whose wrists were shackled to the wall. "And you, my dear, are awfully quiet."

"Who are you?" she whispered lethally. "What reasons do you have to kidnap us?"

"Kidnap…" Voldemort mused pleasantly as he leaned forward and placed the thick glasses on the older man's face. He patted the grey hair almost lovingly as he pulled back. With bone-white fingers, he dropped his hood, revealing his face. "I am Lord Voldemort," he introduced softly. "But you may know me as Undersecretary Tom Riddle."

They both flinched, narrowing their gazes on him. Airi Roux, the newly wed wife of Serge Roux, gave a horrible sneer as she realized his intentions.

"Serge had _nothing _to do with the attacks on your Hogwarts Champion," the Asian woman defended foolishly. She shifted her body further away from the wall and closer to her bemused husband. "It was my father who ordered the attacks. The poor child and I were only pawns in your power game with my father."

Voldemort paused to consider this. He wondered what Izar would think if he heard he was nothing but a pawn. Whatever his reaction, Voldemort was certain he would look beautiful in his defiance. No matter, Izar _was_ an unfortunate pawn in this game of politics. But this was only one battle, there were many more to come in which Voldemort needed Izar to be something a bit more than a common pawn.

"Yes, your father dearest," Voldemort murmured softly. "How is Acelin Morel doing, by the way? Has he declared the mantle of the Dark Lord of France yet?"

The fool politician, Acelin, had been a thorn on Britain's side for the past few years. In France, he had many politicians' kissing his arse because of the flaccid power and money he flaunted. Despite the French's high opinion of Morel, Voldemort saw the fool for what he truly was. A fraud; a man with insecurities so large Voldemort was impressed Morel could look himself in the mirror every morning.

All it took was one encounter with Morel for Riddle to turn his nose down at him. Morel, on the other hand, had requested Undersecretary Riddle to join his cause. The day Riddle laughed in response to a partnership with Morel was the same day Morel saw the Britain Undersecretary as a threat.

And to _think _Morel could put Izar Black in danger…

Airi Roux's dark eyes flashed. She had no resemblance to her father. Riddle pondered if she was a bastard child. "It's _Lord _Morel to you, Riddle."

He gave a deep hum in response, already tired of her. And the French Minister Serge was simply a waste of space. He would have thought there would have been more enjoyment with these two. No matter, the screams would begin soon. "Morel is an arrogant fool for attacking what belongs to me… on _my _soil no less."

Voldemort reached into his pocket and drew out a small plastic bag. He held it up for the two to see. Crimson eyes traced across the glowing purple dust inside the bag, giving a sly smile. "Do you recognize this, woman?"

Airi and Serge stared at the dust, the former growing pale. "You should," Voldemort continued. "It was the same _Devils Venenum _you threw on Izar Black's face during the First Task. I kept the remaining dust you planted in his school bag. I hope you don't mind. It's rather expensive, is it not? Originating all the way from Asia, your mother's land."

He lowered the bag of dust and offered a smile.

"But before we start the hallucinations, let's have a bit of _fun_. We need to get you prepped and ready for the Third Task."

Serge Roux finally reacted. "Prepped? What the hell do you mean?"

Voldemort placed the purple dust calmly in his pocket before caressing his wand. "You can't make your debut to the wizarding world looking like _that_, can you?" He lifted his wand and watched in amusement as the girl gave a strangled yelp, placing her legs in front of the French Minister as if it would protect him.

"Please," she begged.

_Ah yes, the pleading… _He didn't understand why Izar found torture to be so dreadful.

"Serge had _nothing _to do with this. He doesn't even know," she repeated desperately, her eyes wide and crazed. "Are you going to kill someone so innocent? Do you not have any mercy? You can just _obliviate _him and set him loose… please."

Voldemort mockingly considered this, eyeing the two frightened fools with concealed merriment as they hoped he would reconsider killing him. "Do I have any mercy? No. I am not a merciful Lord, girl." With that being said, he slashed his wand through the air and sliced a large lesion down Serge's front torso. The cut went from his belly to just above his groin and a river of blood trickled down his sides and onto the floor beneath him.

The girl screamed as blood splattered across her pale face. Blood choked Serge as he attempted to voice his pain. "We can't have you dying so quickly, Serge," Voldemort mused as he cast a preserving charm on the French Minister. "You need to be assembled accordingly."

Voldemort lifted his wand upward, unraveling the large intestines from Serge's body. It slithered from his body cavity with simplicity, rivaling the graceful movements of a charmed serpent. Blood splashed across the floors as it danced upward and eventually settled around the man's thin neck. The desperate eyes of Serge looked up at Voldemort as he loomed closer.

Taking out the dust, Voldemort sprinkled the glowing residue across Serge's face. Almost immediately, the hallucinogen drug took affect. The man's pupils dilated and he began whimpering past the thick blood in his throat. The Minister's hands grasped his own intestine around his neck, pulling at it harshly; likely thinking it was a large serpent.

Voldemort chuckled pleasantly before he turned to look at the horrified girl. "Your father was an idiot to put his own daughter in my hands," Voldemort murmured as he glided toward her. She was backed into the corner, closing her eyes against the sight. "Perhaps…" he considered lightly. "Perhaps you really aren't his daughter, hm?"

Her eyes snapped open and she glared at him hatefully. Voldemort's mouth twisted cruelly. "It would seem as if I touched a nerve."

"You know nothing," she whispered fiercely, but her fear was obvious.

"No, I don't," Voldemort acknowledged as he stopped at her feet. "But I don't really find myself caring." He crouched down in front of her hateful gaze, taking pleasure in it. "I promised Izar that I would make you scream. Perhaps your end won't be as painful and grotesque as your pedophile husband, but it will be long and drawn out, I can promise you that."

Leaning forward, he breathed in her ear. "No one touches what is rightfully mine."

He leaned backward, taking out the last of the dust. She began to move her face around, escaping a direct shot to her nasal passageways. He smirked, his wand already trained on her skull. With the Dark whispering words of enlightenment, Voldemort gave a lazy flick of his wand. A sharp snap was heard as her skull cracked and concaved. It made her appearance deformed as pieces of skull either rose, pushing against her skin, or sunk down near the brain.

It wouldn't kill her, not immediately anyway.

Ignoring the screams, Voldemort placed the dust on the palm of his hand before blowing at it gently. The purple dust scattered across her face and into her system.

Voldemort stood up, eyeing the struggling form of the French Minister as he fought his own intestines, gurgling. They both were under the hallucinogen, their minds slowly becoming destroyed with the amount of magic in the air. They would see visions and they would also see each other as strange figures before their mind shut down.

"When the dust was at its most dangerous stage, I had to restrain Izar from lunging at me and himself…" he trailed off, unlocking the handcuffs and releasing husband and wife. "Why don't you two enjoy each other's company?"

He stepped back as Serge eyed the prone and still figure of his wife. The system had yet to reach the deepest parts of her destroyed brain.

Turning, he walked out the door.

"I will see you both on the day of the Third Task."

As the screaming intensified, Voldemort shut the door behind him, casting the two in darkness.

* * *

{**Notes**} Chapter twenty-one was the first and only time Airi Roux was introduced. If you want to jog your memory, you can go back and read through what Daphne mentions to Izar about of her. Also, I'm splitting "Death of Today" up into two parts. The first part will be completed within the next two/three/four chapters.


	31. Part I Chapter 31

As a reminder, Cyprien Beaumont is *not* the son of French Minister Serge Roux and Airi Roux. Lukas Steinar, however, *is* the son of the Norwegian Minister, Bjørn Steinar.

Two chapters within two days. ;)

Thanks for your reviews!

**Chapter Thirty-One**

The silence around the room was only broken by the sound of silverware clashing against porcelain plates. Izar gazed at his food, blocking out the awkward conversation transpiring between Dumbledore and Madame Maxime. The two were the only ones who spoke amicably at these luncheons. There were a few times when Dumbledore engaged a crabby Karkaroff in a strained civil conversation, but other than that, conversations were usually cruel remarks coated in a sugary-sweet and innocent tenor.

Riddle was rather good at disguising his true meaning when it came to discussions with Minister Bjørn Steinar. The two would usually banter pleasantly back and forth, but today, they seemed to lose interest. Perhaps it was because this was the luncheon before the Task and they didn't need to be forced together again after this.

"Where did you say Minister Roux was, Madame?" Dumbledore inquired the Beauxbatons Headmistress.

The half-giant swallowed the rich fruit in her mouth before patting her lips with her silk napkin. "He owled and informed me that he had an urgent briefing to attend, Headmaster Dumbledore. I'm afraid he won't make it back before the Tournament is over." Her French accent was almost too heavy to understand, but it was clear enough for the luncheon members to comprehend.

Izar looked up from his plate, casting a lazy glance at the Headmistress. "An urgent briefing?" he inquired softly. "I didn't know France had any political issues to attend to urgently." France was one of the few countries who prided themselves as being incredibly diplomatic with no dirty politics within their ranks. An urgent briefing sounded as if that image wasn't as pristine as they claimed it to be.

Maxime looked down at Izar, not at all impressed at his knowledge in their politics. "It doesn't," she defended fiercely. "He is a very busy man. Surely the French Minister has every right to tear himself away from fun and games in order to manage his country."

Izar lifted his eyebrows, a slow smirk stretching across his lips. "Indeed."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Mr. Harrison—,"

Maxime straightened up suddenly, an almost insulted look on her face. "I do not see how Minister Roux is any different from your own Minister Fudge. I have yet to see him through the course of this Tournament. Poor hospitality at best."

Charcoal-green eyes met hers calmly, a bit of an amused twitch to his mouth. "That is true, Madame, however, I never claimed Britain to have clean politics, that position and claim is for the French to live up to." He paused, flashing a look across the table at Riddle. "Though, I doubt _any _politics can be so pristine."

"You have that right, Izar," Cyprien spoke up, chuckling.

Izar tore his eyes from Riddle and offered a small smile toward Cyprien. The boy sobered quickly when his Headmistress sent him a disproving look.

"Mr. Harrison, I believe we should leave the politics to the members of the Ministry." Dumbledore, always the diplomatic gentlemen, easily interrupted Madame Maxime from continuing on her tirade.

Izar's jaw clenched hotly. "I would take your words into consideration if only you had gotten my name correct." He turned his attention on the Headmaster next to him, looking the man in the eye. His temper got the better of him. But then again, his temper had been making a debut the past few days. "It is Izar _Black. _With the number of times I have corrected you, I'd think it would have sunken in by now… despite your old age."

Silence spread across the table, not even the noise of clashing forks sounded.

Bjørn Steinar gave a grunt, the first noise he offered since the luncheon began. "Ah yes, the tabloids mentioned the outcry surrounding your parentage." The man considered Izar from across the table. Next to him, Lukas mimicked his father. "I don't know what is worse, being an orphaned Muggle-born boy or carrying the surname of Black."

The Britain Undersecretary gave a light laugh, leaning back in his chair as he considered Bjørn. "Surely, even your dense mind can determine the answer to that, Minister Steinar," Riddle murmured softly, a hint of threat lingering in his tone.

Bjørn paid no heed to Riddle's stare, nor his tone. The Norwegian Minister continued to stare down Izar from his position across the table. "I suppose you think it's an honor to carry such a surname in Britain. However, the rest of the world looks down on such an incestuous-filled bloodline. I remember Orion and Walburga Black. The two were inseparable and also blood cousins… your grandparents, correct?"

Izar breathed deeply in order to calm himself when he observed a few of the luncheon occupants sneer in disgust. Next to him, Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably, obviously not enjoying the turn of conversation. Before Dumbledore could interrupt the steady flow of insults, Izar lifted his chin, prepared to defend his blood.

"What my ancestors preferred to amuse themselves with in their beds had no direct reflection to their power and domination in the wizarding world." Izar paused, trying to control his smile. He remembered a brief conversation he had with Regulus regarding the Norwegian Minister. "Maybe the reason you remember my grandparents so well is because you're still sour about Orion Black obtaining the position of Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic over yourself."

Orion was in office for only one term, but it was still worth mentioning; especially when Izar took notice of how Bjørn's face turned a deep crimson.

The Norwegian politician then offered a grim smile through his anger. "That was a long time ago, boy. Now look where I'm at— Minister of Norway. And where is your grandfather? In a grave. Early mortality rates are all too common in the Black family. It's a cursed bloodline— lets hope you meet your end soon enough. Perhaps then, maybe the bloodline will die with you."

Madame Maxime gasped in horror at the man's words, touching her chest in a gesture of shock. Izar smiled thinly, not at all affected by the man's words. For a high politician to lose control of his emotions like that, simply meant that Izar had gotten under his skin.

"Minister Steinar," Dumbledore reprehended sharply, appalled. "Let's remind ourselves that despite the excessive vocabulary our Champions possess, they are still only _children_. It would do to hold your tongue."

Steinar leaned back, looking almost ashamed. Not for what he had said about Izar, certainly not, but he for losing control so easily. The Norwegian glanced at Riddle, grimacing when the Undersecretary shook his head in mocking disappointment. The charmed brown eyes of Riddle met Izar's gaze across the table before the man winked.

Izar glanced down, still peeved with the Undersecretary to take much notice of the man's approval. In fact, the morning Snape had woken Izar up from the wet shower was the same day Izar had buried himself in books and hid out in his dorm room. He didn't reach out to human contact and he distanced himself from most the students and adults. Even now, he felt as if he were struggling to keep himself in line. He was on a short fuse and it felt like the world was spinning too quickly for Izar to grab hold of and make sense of.

It was almost like insanity, uncertainty, and insecurity. He wanted to run his fingernails down his face, pull at his hair, and scream.

He was on the verge of a mental breakdown, even he knew that much. Izar believed if he distanced himself from everyone and everything, he could patch up and hold himself together. Because Izar didn't know what more he could take until he cracked completely.

Luckily, his physical health was getting better. The poison in his body had washed out completely the night in Snape's private chambers. After a quick thanks of gratitude to Snape, Izar had turned his heel and escaped the dungeons.

"Let's turn our attention to the Third and last Task of the Tournament," Dumbledore murmured. His aura had settled down from its temporary flare up and now lazed around the Headmaster in gold-like waves. "The judges and I have decided to inform you three of your Task here at the luncheon."

Izar straightened in his seat, almost salivating at the thought of finishing this bloody Tournament.

"Mr. Black is in first place by only one point from Mr. Steinar and two points from Mr. Beaumont. With the points so evenly spread out, the judges came to a new conclusion regarding the point system for the next Task." Dumbledore met the eyes of each Champion around the table. "The last Task will be constructed in form of a maze. The maze is situated underneath the Quidditch pitch and will contain a few obstacles on your way to the center of the maze."

Izar nodded, curious. A maze may sound easy enough, but he knew to never underestimate a challenge.

"Once you reach the center of the underground maze, you will find a lift that will elevate you above ground and onto the Quidditch pitch. Once above ground, you will race to the Triwizard Cup at the end of the pitch," Dumbledore finished lightly.

"It sounds relatively easy," Lukas drawled from his position next to his father. "What is the new point system you decided on? Will we have a Watchful following us as we did in the First Task?"

Izar grimaced as he remembered the floating eyes in the First Task. The Watchfuls had followed each of the Champions and transported an image to the spectators in the Quidditch pitch. The last time he saw his Watchful, it had been lying uselessly on the ground after his attacker had come at him.

"No," Dumbledore answered, surprising the Champions at the answer. "You will be on your own under the pitch. Whomever touches the Cup first will be declared the Champion of the Tournament." Dumbledore lifted his hands, spreading his fingers out in a gesture of surrender. "If the points were spread more irregularly amongst the Champions, the judges would have come up with an alternative point system." His blue eyes landed on Izar. "Because you are in first place, Mr. Black, I will ask you if you deem this point system acceptable in terms of declaring the winner."

Izar mused it over in his mind, debating. In all ways it sounded fair enough. The judges awarded him the five points during the Second Task, even when he was two seconds away from the required time of thirty seconds. And because Izar would rather not have his actions recorded to the spectators above on the pitch, the alternative point system Dumbledore decided on was favorable.

Cocking his head to the side, Izar offered the Headmaster a nod. "It sounds acceptable, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave a grave nod, his expression contorting solemnly. "Under the Quidditch Pitch, there will be no monitors and there will be no safety in guaranteeing your other opponents will play fair. There is nothing stopping the use of restricted magic." Dumbledore looked at Izar pointedly over his half-moon spectacles. Izar blinked back at him innocently. "With that being said, you will not only be searching for the lift to bring you to the surface of the pitch, but you will also be fighting for a bit more in the maze. You may just lose yourself in the process."

It was a grim warning, but a true one. Izar looked slyly over at Lukas Steinar noticing the boy was already watching him.

Why did Izar get the feeling that something was not _right _with this last Task?

{**Death of Today**}

Izar panted as he ran through the black ice-like walls of the maze. Above him, he could hear the drowned-out sound of the fans. It was cold under the pitch and he wondered if any of the other Champions had as much as a chilling fear as he did.

He gave a grunt as he slammed his fist into a dead-end wall. There had already been a few obstacles he had to destroy in his path, such as a small Acromantula, a few Billywig and Blast-Ended Skrewts and a Demiguise. The latter had been the most difficult to defeat, but it had perished at the end of Izar's wand.

Izar turned around and began to run the opposite direction. A 'point me' spell didn't work to find the lift and it wasn't possible to cast a translucent spell on the walls of the maze. Izar grunted as he made his way through a good amount of corridors without hitting a dead-end. Perhaps he was finding his way?

Ten minutes ago, Izar had been the first Champion lowered into the underground maze. Lukas had been lowered in a minute after him and Cyprien followed last. As of yet, Izar hadn't encountered any of the other Champions. But he knew it was only a matter of time.

As he turned a sharp corner, he faltered when he came face to face with...

Himself?

Izar raised his wand, considering the frail boy before him. Everything was mirrored back at him; the wavy black hair that curled at random strands, a compact body that refused to grow, pale and flawless skin that reflected off Izar's wand light… but the closer Izar looked, the more he realized there were more differences than similarities.

This Izar had short sleeves. On the mirror image's left forearm, Voldemort's Dark Mark sat, appearing blacker than ever. This Izar had no fingerless glove upon his left hand and it revealed the Celtic band to Voldemort. The other Izar also slumped, appearing shorter than usual… but the eyes were the most noticeable difference. While they were still charcoal-green, they had no brightness to them. They were defeated… submissive.

Izar took a step back, thrusting his wand out toward his double. He knew what he was seeing. A boggart. Izar had never come face to face with a boggart before. He always wondered what his boggart would take form as. But now he was looking directly at his deepest fear.

His fear was failure, a failure to remain independent and strong, a failure at staying true to himself.

The boggart took a step closer, its eyes becoming even more defeated. Fury washed through Izar. This was a fear that would _never _come to pass.

"_Riddikulus_," Izar hissed.

The spell hit the boggart, vanishing the image before a dark shape huddled into the corner of the maze. It was a small boy. The dark-headed boy sniffed into his knees before looking up at Izar with glowing charcoal-green eyes. Izar stepped back, his pulse racing as he watched the small boy. He was looking into his past— a past that held no affection, but only torment.

Izar turned his heel on the defeated boggart, continuing through his maze. He tried to shrug off the image of the boggart, but it seemed to follow him at every twist and turn. He pegged it on being emotionally exhausted and reassured himself that it would be just a memory after the Tournament.

Turning another corner, Izar gave a startled gasp as a tendril of magic grabbed his ankle and twisted him heavily to the ground. He gave a roar as he felt his ankle snap painfully. Quickly rolling on his stomach, he avoided another spell sent his way. Throwing up a quick and hasty shield, Izar turned and watched as Lukas Steinar stalked toward him, thrashing his wand toward Izar.

"Steinar," Izar growled. Only, even if it appeared as Steinar, the boy's aura was altered. For a moment, Izar wondered if it was another boggart, but tossed that idea angrily away when he realized that boggarts couldn't use magic through wands.

But then why was the Norwegian's aura so different? More powerful? Darker?

Izar didn't have time to speculate, for Lukas sent a nasty hex that pierced straight through Izar's shield. The Ravenclaw struggled as he dodged it, careful not to snap his wand as he landed on it. The Norwegian's hex blasted a hole through the maze wall before the wall magically closed once again. Izar stared at the wall before turning to study Lukas. There was nothing but a cold determination in the boy's eyes.

Scrambling to his feet, Izar put most his weight on his right leg as he cast his own hex at the boy. As predicted, Lukas easily side-stepped it and sent a yellow spell in Izar's direction. The Black heir frowned as he crouched down to avoid it, sweat dripping in his face. When he had dueled Lukas during the Second Task, the Norwegian wasn't very skilled in nonverbal spells. There were times Steinar could cast them, certainly, but not to the extent of _this. _And there was brute power behind each spell.

Suddenly, Izar was lifted off his feet and his back slammed into the roof of the maze before his stomach crashed agonizingly onto the floor. He cried out as his attacker repeated the process again, up and down, up and down.

His chin hit the floor and he began seeing stars. His body burned but Lukas gave him no time to recover as he shot a disarming curse. Despite his soreness, Izar still managed to twist around the spell with quick reflexes.

Magic seemed to grab Izar around his middle before he was flung into the wall of the maze. Bindings wrapped around him, rendering him motionless. Clenching his fingers together, Izar struggled, feeling his fury begin to rise as he realized he was caught without so much as fighting back.

Charcoal-green eyes glared at the advancing figure of Lukas Steinar. If Izar had anymore indecision to believe this wasn't Steinar, all he needed to do was look deeply into the boy's eyes. They were cold and disgusted. They reminded Izar of another pair, a pair he couldn't put his finger on at the moment.

"I don't know what he sees in you," Lukas murmured, a sneer to his lips. "You're pathetic."

Izar trembled in rage. His wand was on the ground a few feet from him. He didn't know what his attacker was speaking about, but it didn't matter. The words were weapons in their own right. Izar seethed, his mind spiking with both mental anguish and desperation.

Steinar shook his head, assessing Izar through mocking eyes. "All too easy, just as he predicted." The Durmstrang Champion then eyed Izar's fallen wand. A considering light entered his expression before he moved toward the wand and stopping inches from it. He picked up his foot, his heel positioned over the wand. "Pathetic," the man spat again before bringing down his foot.

Izar reared his head back, giving a growl of fury. The bindings around him slithered off and Izar lunged forward, wandlessly blasting Lukas away from his wand on off his feet. Crouching in his aura stance, Izar called for his wand.

His beloved came to him in one piece. Izar wasted no time in rejoicing at his luck and instead threw out his arm, calling his magic around him. _"Pungo," _Izar shot at the stumbling Lukas. The hex reached the boy, and with a cry, the Durmstrang Champion dropped his wand, nursing his brilliant red and purple hand that swelled up twice its normal size.

A dark sensation curled in Izar's stomach as he watched Lukas' features twist into pain. There was something thrilling about putting an enemy through pain. Especially when Izar knew _this _wasn't Lukas Steinar but someone who wanted to cause Izar true pain.

"Who are you?" Izar growled out in question.

Lukas stepped forward in a lunge, his wand already in hand before shouting out his next curse. _"Caedo." _

Izar was hit in the wand arm. The power behind the attack threw his shoulder backward. His skin split, dropping blood in every which direction. He moaned, but kept focused. Thrashing his wounded arm through the air, he wordlessly tied his attacker's legs together. The boy went down roughly, wiggling his legs in an attempt to shake it off.

When Izar saw the hostile expression in Lukas' eyes, he stiffened and sharpened his mind. Time seemed to slow and Izar saw the world through a new light. He watched as a cruel smile slipped across Lukas' lips and the boy aimed his wand at him. Whatever was going to come out of that wand, Izar knew he didn't want to be on the other end of it.

He raised his wand in response. There was a beloved spell he had invented not too long ago. It would serve him well in this situation.

"_Confringo," _Lukas whispered darkly.

"_Retroago," _Izar yelled at the same time.

Izar's indigo spell embraced his enemy's wand before the Durmstrang boy's spell could fully leave his core. Izar's invented spell then began to manipulate Lukas' wand, causing it to backfire. Whatever Lukas had intended to cast at Izar was thrown back in the boy's face. Through wide, eager eyes, Izar watched as his attacker cried out in pain as half his face blew up. Pieces of flesh scattered around the maze floor and Izar stepped back as an eyeball rolled to a stop at his feet.

Keeping his arm raised, Izar slowly approached the prone and still figure of his attacker. The boy was still alive, whoever it was, but was left unconscious. Izar assumed the attacker was under Polyjuice Potion. Whatever damage was inflicted on a body during Polyjuice was transferred over to the drinker's body when the potion wore off. Izar would know exactly who had attacked him if he ever saw this man again.

The cheek was gone, revealing a few missing teeth in the man's mouth. The right eye was also gone and the skin and muscle on his right side was torn and ragged. A stream of steady blood seeped down the man's chin and pooled at his neck.

Izar gave a cold smile and slowly began to make his way back through the maze. His ankle reminded him that he had sprained— perhaps broken it and his arm was no better. Hopefully he didn't have a long way to go until he reached the lift.

He spoke too soon.

Through tired eyes, he looked up at the Sphinx that guarded an elevator-like lift. Above the lift, Izar could see the blue sky and the sound of the crowd was heard with more clarity. Izar wondered if he was the first Champion near the Cup. Or more importantly, he wondered if Cyprien was anywhere near. Lukas… 'Lukas' wasn't function at the moment.

It did make Izar ponder on who was underneath Lukas' face. What purpose would it serve to disguise one's self as the Norwegian Champion? Could it be someone who desperately needed Norway to win the Tournament and thought they would have a better chance at winning?

"Welcome, young one," the Sphinx greeted, interrupting Izar's train of thought. Her tail thrashed excitingly as she eyed him in hunger. "You have stumbled across one of two lifts. Unfortunate for you, this is the only exit that is guarded."

Izar slumped on his heels, favoring his right leg. There were two lifts? He hadn't known that and Dumbledore made it seem as if there was only one exit to above. Nonetheless, he was confident and a bit impatient. He could try to attack the Sphinx, but he had an idea where this was going. Sphinx's were known for their riddles and puzzles and Izar could handle riddles just fine.

"I will allow you to pass if you answer two of my riddles," she flashed a smile. Her human face clashed with the fang-like teeth in her mouth. "Or would you rather turn around and search for the other lift?" Her claws came out and began to wiggle suggestively. Izar assumed he wouldn't have any chance of turning his back on her.

"I'll take my chance with the riddles," he began dryly.

For a moment, she looked disappointed but immediately brightened. "When young, I am sweet in the sun," she began mystically. "When middle-aged, I make you gay. When old, I am valued more than ever." She cocked her lion mane to the side. "What am I?" Her amber eyes twinkled, rivaling the spark in Dumbledore's eyes.

Izar pondered over the words, his mind almost immediately whispering him the answer.

"Wine," he spoke confidently.

She gave a purr that sounded more angry than pleased. "What is the beginning of eternity," she stared again. "The end of time and space. The beginning of every end, and the end of every place?"

Above her head, near the opening of outside, the crowd suddenly became deafening. Izar's pulse began to race as he struggled to focus on her words and not the fact that Cyprien was likely near the Cup. "End of time and space…" his mind was blank. "Beginning of every end… end of every place…" he gave a growl of frustration, closing his eyes and ears to the distraction of the outside world.

Beginning was also known as the start or the foundation. What was the beginning of every end? The beginning would be the start of the end… but… what was the _end _of every _place? _The end would be the end of every place— a dead-end.

Unless he was looking at this wrong. Perhaps…

Izar gave a lipless smile. The _end _of tim_e _and spac_e…end _of every plac_e. _

Charcoal-green eyes slid open and he leaned forward. "The letter 'e'."

He raced past her before she gave an affirmative. Keeping aware of her position at his back, Izar climbed the lift and almost scrambled off when it quickly shot him above ground. He flew through the air, landing heavily on the Quidditch Pitch.

He rolled in a somersault, quickly coming to his feet even when his ankle screamed at him. The fans became louder and Izar pointed his wand at Cyprien's back, taking aim. Was it against the rules to stun his opponent when they were above ground? Would it be considered cheap to attack his competition when his back was turned? Izar noticed Cyprien was suspiciously unharmed and seemingly unexhausted. Had the boy taken a path Izar hadn't seen? Cyprien was the last inside the maze and also the first one out and unharmed.

"_Stupefy," _Izar whispered, his aim true.

Cyprien, feet from the cup, turned to look what had gotten the attention of the crowd. Poor boy didn't have any time to react when the stunner hit him square in the chest. The Beauxbaton Champion went down rigidly.

Izar limped across the Quidditch pitch, drawn to the blue glow of the Cup. Reaching toward it, he grinned as he curled his fingers around the cool metal. His grin turned into a frown when he sensed something oddly _familiar _about the Cup. It took only seconds for Izar to look up at the judge's stands to meet the Dark Lord's wide eyes. Riddle looked utterly flabbergasted as he reached toward Izar as if he could grab hold of him from so far away.

And then Izar was pulled away from time and space.

It was _his _Portkey. **HIS**.

Izar gave a cry of outrage as he was pulled away from the Quidditch pitch and to an unknown destination.

The first thing he noticed upon landing was the cool atmosphere, almost insanely so. The second thing he noticed was two limp figures settled right underneath his face. Izar gave a cry, as he scrambled back, vomiting at the feet of the corpses of the French Minister and his wife. It took him a second to remember her name as Airi, the woman Daphne had mentioned during the Yule Ball. Their expressions were etched of horror as they stared up at him, cold and lifeless.

The woman's head was disfigured, looking almost square. The white's of her eyes were bloody red and there were bruises and wounds across her body as if someone had attacked her with brute force. The French Minister was the most grotesque looking. His innards were wrapped around his body, issuing a pungent smell.

Izar's assessment took him only five seconds. It was a wonder why he didn't notice the most important thing about his surroundings.

Trembling uncontrollably, he looked up just as the Dementor floated near his face. The Black heir screamed as his body and soul seemed to tear apart at the proximity of the Dementor. There wasn't just one, but a swarm of them hovered near the bodies of the French politicians.

His wand… his wand…

Izar whimpered, feeling around for his wand but he knew it was useless. Even if he had his wand firmly in hand, he couldn't do anything in defense. The Patronus charm was a charm he had never practiced, simply because he knew he had no happy memories strong enough to conjure an affective defense.

The Dementors seemed excited, thrilled upon having him. They floated closer, reaching out to touch him. Their caresses burned and he screamed, tears escaping his eyes as his vision darkened. There was nothing stopping this torture and he found himself falling into unwanted memories of his orphanage days and events he'd rather not remember.

"_Please let me in… please…" a young, nude, Izar called as he banged on the back door of the orphanage. "Please." Tears all but froze on his cheeks from the cold weather. He knew he would have to walk around the building and into the front entrance way in order to get back in. He had been pulled harshly from his room and stripped before being thrown outside by Louis and the others. He had no socks, no shoes, no clothing. Sad eyes looked at the snow and he stifled a pained cry as he began walking barefoot around the orphanage's snowy grounds. _

Izar breathed as he fell to the ground, his head cushioned by the breast of Airi Roux. Through the Dementor's ratty cloaks, he could dimly spot a group of Death Eaters. They were behind a misty-white barrier that likely separated them from the Dementors. The misty-white barrier was a magic Izar didn't know existed. He had thought only a Patronus could deflect a Dementor.

Weakly, Izar moved his hand out toward the Death Eaters, mentally pleading for them to take notice. But they couldn't see him; they would probably not even help if they had seen him.

"_Freak," the boy hissed, spittle flying in Izar's ear. "You're worthless, even more so than the rest of us orphans." _

How long? How long would the Dementors torment him until they Kissed him? Why _hadn't _they Kissed him yet? How long until his Portkey activated again? He didn't know. He felt as if he laid there for hours— stewing and basking in vulnerability so high, he feared he would never be sane again.

Wouldn't it be ironic if Izar's Portkey failed to activate?

_Knees hit the floor as long fingers grasped his left forearm. He looked into crimson eyes, feeling as if this second was his last of a free man. "Morsmordre," Voldemort murmured, pressing his wand into Izar's forearm. Pain, so thick and heavy, washed through him. But he didn't scream. He would never give the man the satisfaction. _

Izar found his voice already becoming hoarse in his screams as another Dementor came at him. His body burned from the extreme cold of the creatures' touches. His mind was a blur as he was forever thrown in his past memories, his prison. He had prided himself with burying the long-time memories… but to have them flung at him so callously… so quickly and all at once…

He cried out, his screams sounding alien to his ears. His body burned… it was cold.

So _cold. _His mind shuddered as it recoiled from the situation and he snapped.

_Izar massaged the bump on his head, eyeing the dark and small cubby door. He didn't remember the last time he had seen light. The orphanage workers didn't even seem to notice him missing. Louis had seen to that as he had thrown Izar inside the cupboard, hitting the smaller child's head against the wall before locking the door._

_The young boy looked down at his fingers, seeing nothing because of the dark but feeling the burning sting of torn nails from clawing at the door. He hated the dark. He hated this place. He hated _them.

**{Death of Today}**

Severus stiffened as he watched the boy disappear before their eyes. He could feel his Mark begin to burn as the Dark Lord's fury washed over him through the link. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Avery Senior, disguised as Lukas Steinar through the use of Polyjuice, was supposed to bind and stop Izar from completing the Task. Avery was _supposed _to tell Izar not to touch the Cup. Despite the pain being unbelievably excruciating, Snape was thankful he wasn't Avery as the moment.

Or Izar.

He clenched his teeth, feeling Regulus stand up in surprise next to him. Snape tried to open his eyes through the pain, but it was too much. He didn't believe Izar would make it out intact. Oh yes, the boy would be alive, but his spirited soul would be in the belly of a lucky Dementor.

Next to him, he could hear Regulus breathing heavily as the man assessed the area where his son once stood. "Albus?" Regulus whispered in uncertainty toward the Headmaster a few rows behind him.

Despite the loud and bemused crowd of the spectators, Regulus' grief-stricken tone was the loudest in Snape's ears. _"Albus?_! Where is my _son_?" The man cried out hysterically.

Snape cracked open an eye, feeling a dark emotion settling in his gut at Regulus' expression. The man's naked grief was difficult to look at, even for Severus. Sitting a seat before Snape, the Dark Lord sat stiffly, his shoulders appearing as if they were trembling, likely in rage. The Undersecretary's face was off-white, appearing almost ill in appearance. Severus narrowed his eyes, musing. The Dark Lord seemed attached to Izar Black in a way that was unheard of among the Death Eater ranks.

Izar was incredibly intelligent and powerful, but the boy was still a child and had many faults. The boy had a smart tongue on him and he constantly butted heads with the Dark Lord. What could the man see in a child so young?

Snape considered his own feelings for the child.

Pursing his lips, he narrowed his eyes as he pushed those musings away. Now wasn't the time to grieve. There was a chance the boy survived with his mind intact.

Behind him, he could feel Dumbledore stand up, sending a chilling aura around the group of adults. The Headmaster didn't get a chance to calm the rousing students and spectators, for Lord Voldemort's gift to the wizarding world materialized in a blink of an eye. Courtesy of Izar Black's invention, of course.

Rather ironic that the child's invention was used in his own destruction.

The scene below was just as the Dark Lord had planned. It was a beautiful play in the Dark Lord's eyes and in the eyes of many frenzied Death Eaters. To Severus, it looked like an end of an era and beginning of a new era. He was hesitant to call it devastation because he supported the scene below just as much as those masked Death Eaters running around the Quidditch pitch, wreaking havoc.

As planned, the French Minister's corpse was levitated in the air for all to see. Next to him, his wife, the daughter of a renowned politician in France, hung next to his corpse. Their identities were easily recognized and once the shock of the scene sunk in, chaos erupted. Screams from the spectators pierced the air just as visible as the green Dark Mark that was shot up into the air.

Death Eaters began racing toward the spectators, setting alight the stands and the Quidditch pitch. Flames engulfed a few unfortunate victims as they ran toward Hogwarts. The Death Eaters were ordered not to kill, but terrorize as heavily as possible. The Dark Lord promised his followers they would get Muggles and Ministry workers in the future, but they were not to kill the students and spectators today.

Severus was suspicious of the Dark Lord's plans. The man was too brilliant to allow 'Lord Voldemort' to be the only spokesperson for the fight for Muggle resistance. Undersecretary Riddle had something else up his sleeve when it came to this rising war.

But for a brief moment, Snape had to congratulate the Dark Lord for being able to go through with such an act on Dumbledore's school.

Standing up, Severus noticed the Dementors weren't wreaking havoc on the spectators like the Death Eaters. Instead, they were surrounding a prone form on the grassy pitch, racing around the figure in obvious excitement. Severus grew ill as he recognized the figure as Izar Black. Why were the Dementors focused only on Izar? A used prize compared to the many available souls in the stands?

Regulus blinked before racing down the stands.

"_Black," _Snape barked, unsure as to why he was stopping the man. Regulus paused, turning to Snape with determined eyes. "You don't know how to cast a Patronus."

Regulus' mouth turned ugly as he searched the stands and locking eyes with Riddle. "He's my son. I need to do something… anything."

With one last glare at Undersecretary Riddle, Regulus raced blindly down the stands and toward his son. Snape held back a hiss of displeasure. Must he be the _only _one to think logically? With his mind and not his sentimental anchors?

Breathing deeply, Snape followed the heels of his long-time friend. He was a fool. They both were fools.

Gathering his thoughts, Snape calmly pointed his wand at the Dementors. He despised summoning his Patronus. Not only because he had to bring himself back to the day he lost everything, but because he was reminded vividly of what could never be. The memory he had chosen shouldn't have produced the Patronus, but it did.

"_Expecto Patronum," _he uttered in a cool calm.

The silver form morphed into a sleek panther as it raced toward the Dementors. Snape eyed the panther, reminded, sourly, of the past. Nonetheless, the sleek feline had raced apart the Dementors, leaving Izar Black exposed and sending the Dementors scurrying away from the scene.

Snape hesitated when he caught sight of a Death Eater hovering near Regulus as the man dived on the ground and embraced his son. Irritation stung at Snape as he batted the Death Eater away with his wand.

He was the only sane one.

"Leave," he ordered the woman.

Bellatrix's dark eyes looked up at Snape through the slits of her gold mask. She then turned her attention back on her distant nephew, her body seemingly struggling against going over to Regulus and Izar. Wasn't this the same woman who had attempted to cut off her nephew's manhood a few months ago? Snape reluctantly understood Bellatrix's mind was no where near normal and would see her nephew in a new light once he had defeated her in the duel.

"I don't take orders from you, Severus Snape," she breathed through her mask. With one last glance at her nephew, Bellatrix turned her heel to join in the fun.

Snape's Patronus dissipated. Stopping near son and father, he wondered if he should feel relieved Regulus hadn't noticed the form his Patronus had taken or a bit bitter. He shook his thoughts away when he watched Regulus mourn over his son's body.

The man had half his body covering Izar as he rocked his child back and forth, whispering pleas in the boy's ear and running his fingers through the boy's sweaty hair. Pained charcoal eyes looked up at Snape, appearing almost lost.

Snape took a step back, recoiling at the thick emotions exuding from Regulus. It was if the man were silently asking Snape to help him… help him with an unattainable and impossible task. "He may still be…" Snape trailed off when Regulus' expression morphed into one of anger.

"Don't come closer," Regulus breathed inhumanly.

Frowning, Snape looked over his shoulder to see Britain's Undersecretary make his way over. Severus was certain the man would have been the first one next to Izar Black's prone form if Riddle didn't possess dignity and if he was capable of producing a Patronus.

Riddle crouched down next to Regulus, ignoring the threat. "You will cease your foolish antics," the man reprimanded as Regulus pulled Izar's body away from Riddle's advancing reach.

"You have no claim on him," Regulus, the fool, barked out. His uncontrolled antics reminded Snape of the mutt, Sirius Black. "You put him in this state—,"

Riddle reached forward, tearing Izar from Regulus and putting a magical barrier around the four of them. To outsiders, they would appear unrecognizable, a mere blur on the horizon. "I did not intend for this to happen," Riddle hissed out, brown eyes morphing into spilt-crimson. "He was not supposed to be the one to touch the Cup."

Snape's lips thinned as he watched Riddle's wand trace over Izar's forehead. It was the same procedure he was considering completing before the man made his presence known. The charm would indicate if Izar Black had any brain activity. If a blue light surrounded the boy's forehead, it would mean there was activity inside his brain. If a red light appeared, it would mean the boy had succumbed to the Dementor's Kiss.

Oddly enough, Snape found himself stiffening.

Fortunate for Regulus, a blue light glowed around Black's head like that of a crown. Snape pondered on this, marveling at the boy's luck. How had Izar come out of it intact?

"He's stable," Riddle murmured, sounding just as surprised as Snape felt. "His brain is showing signs of activity." The Undersecretary passed Izar's prone body toward Regulus, albeit a bit reluctantly. "Take him to the infirmary. His wounds need to be looked at."

Regulus accepted his burden with a lighter aura about him.

Snape stepped back as Riddle turned. The man placed his wand to his temple, blinking his crimson eyes closed before they opened as a dark brown. For a long moment, Riddle studied Snape with an expressionless mask.

"Assist them to the infirmary, Severus," Riddle hissed out before turning his heel and heading toward the fray.

Onyx eyes met charcoal.

"Thank you, Severus," Regulus whispered hoarsely. "Thank you."

**{Death of Today}**

Severus didn't understand why he was standing so foolishly next to Regulus in the infirmary. Two hours had passed since Pomfrey had finished cleaning and tending to Black's wounds. The boy was lying pale and unconscious on his hospital bed, looking as peaceful as death itself. According to Pomfrey, Izar was in a temporary coma. Apparently, the boy withdrew himself mentally during the attack of the Dementors.

Snape considered this, understanding that Izar had gone through mental and emotional turmoil. It wasn't unheard of to withdraw into one's self during a tragic situation. It was difficult, however, to determine if Izar would be the same after waking.

He didn't dare tell Regulus as much.

Onyx eyes glanced out the infirmary window. He should have been tending to his Slytherins. There were several other things he should have been doing to help Hogwarts recover from the Death Eater's successful attack; such as making potions and seeing to the other wounded. Instead, he found himself standing next to Regulus' sitting form. The man hadn't moved from his son's bedside since the moment Pomfrey moved aside the curtain.

And Severus found himself just a motionless.

He'd like to think he was staying near the two Blacks out of curiosity, not because he wanted to lend his support to the foolish man sitting next to him.

After the attack had disbanded and the wounded were tended to, Minister Fudge, Headmaster Dumbledore, and Undersecretary Riddle had appeared at Izar Black's bedside. Severus could easily see the fury behind Dumbledore's carefully constructed mask. The man was uncomfortable and enraged over Riddle's continuous presence in Hogwarts after the bold attack. But Dumbledore was powerless to stop Riddle from doing what he wanted. There was no evidence against Riddle and the Ministry had every right to be inside Hogwarts.

Riddle, for his part, looked serene and a bit concerned. None of his Death Eaters were killed or captured, so Severus assumed the concern was a mask to present to the public. Only, Severus could see the way he stood over Izar in a protective, yet exceedingly possessive way.

"Death Eaters?" Minister Fudge exclaimed, puzzled. The word sounded foreign and humorous on his tongue. The Minister gave a light chuckle, unable to believe what Dumbledore was informing him of. "You believe the terrorists who attacked today were '_Death Eaters'_, Headmaster?"

Severus eyed the proceedings with masked interest. Next to him, Regulus seemed as if he were focusing on his son, and only his son, but Snape knew better.

"I don't believe, Minister," Dumbledore replied gravely. "I know so. The attack by Death Eaters was orchestrated by a rising Dark Lord. The Death Eaters are his band of followers." Here, Dumbledore's eyes pierced across the bedside at Riddle.

In turn, the Undersecretary cocked his head to the side, feigning interest and curiosity.

Fudge looked horrified at Dumbledore's claims. "A Dark Lord?" the man repeated, sounding uncertain. For a long moment, Fudge tried to gather his thoughts before his expression morphed into anger. "There is no rising Dark Lord, Dumbledore. The last Dark Lord was Grindelwald and there has not been another since. I will accept that there is a terrorist group, aimed at destroying the French, but I will not consider a Dark Lord to be active on Britain's soils."

Snape looked across at Riddle. The Undersecretary shook his head in mocking concern. "I don't understand why you would believe there is a Dark Lord, Headmaster. The only deceased in the attack was the French Minister and his wife."

Riddle made no outward stand. He wasn't denying that he thought it was a Dark Lord and he wasn't accepting that it was just a terrorist group. The Undersecretary was just curious to know why the Headmaster would believe a Dark Lord was in their midst.

It was a smart move on the man's behalf. It gave Riddle more stepping room.

Severus pondered, briefly, what role Undersecretary Riddle would play in this war.

Dumbledore motioned toward the prone figure of Izar Black. Regulus eyed him distrustfully, looking every bit of a protective mother hen. "I believe Mr. Black has fallen victim to the manipulations of a Dark Lord. If you look, Minister Fudge, you'll see a Death Eater tattoo on the boy's left forearm. I believe it's in shape of the same Mark that was thrown into the sky during the attack."

Fudge issued a sigh, not noticing the stiffening shoulders of Riddle and Regulus. Snape, on the other hand, tried to control his amused smirk. He was afraid he didn't succeed.

The Minister placed his glasses on his nose, motioning at Dumbledore and Izar. "I will give you the benefit of the doubt, Headmaster Dumbledore. Let me see this… rebel tattoo you claim the boy has."

Dumbledore gave a grim nod, reaching toward Izar. Surprisingly, the hand that curled around the old man's wrist was not Regulus' but the Dark Lord's. Riddle gave a cruel smile, his fingers looking painfully tight around Dumbledore's wrist. "Give the boy some dignity, Headmaster," Riddle crooned. "He's unconscious. Won't you show a bit of respect?"

Fudge tittered, shaking his head. "Come now, Tom, we are only humoring the Headmaster. Let us see the boy's arm."

The Dark Lord showed no sign of releasing the Headmaster. Snape looked upward, realizing he must step in once again. "Forgive me, Undersecretary Riddle, but I believe Minister Fudge is correct," he drawled. He felt Regulus stiffen next to him, but his attention was directed on the cold eyes of Riddle. "It can do no harm."

Severus was clueless to what the boy had altered the Mark as. He hadn't wanted to know at the time and Izar never came to him with the information. All Snape had known was Izar had taken down the Dark Lord's ward—an impossible feat.

For all he knew, Izar hadn't had the time to alter it.

Riddle let go of Dumbledore. His gaze was searching Snape suspiciously. Perhaps he would be punished for knowing about Izar's intentions with the Dark Mark, but Snape believed it was better to be punished than have Fudge suspicious.

Dumbledore lifted Izar's sleeve and all five male wizards leaned forward to inspect the marking.

"My word…" Fudge exclaimed, adjusting his glasses and peering closer.

Snape's own eyes narrowed as he studied the Mark. He grimaced when his eyes traced over the barely-clad female with voluptuous curves. Thick black hair fell to the middle of her back as she danced away from their scrutiny. Her lips pursed sweetly as she used a small flag to cover her breasts, not succeeding very well. Upon the flag, a Black family crest was proudly stamped in the center. The tattoo moved, using a dainty hand to brush hair away from her eyes.

Regulus was the first to break the silence. The man tipped back his neck to issue an amused and pleased chuckle.

Snape looked up at Riddle, eyeing the man's head as he continued to stare uncomprehendingly at the Mark. It was inappropriate to smile at a time like this, but Snape found himself offering a smirk. It quickly vanished when Riddle finally looked up. The man eyed Snape over his glasses, appearing unimpressed. Perhaps Snape was too quick to spy it, but he could discern a ghost of a smile across the man's lips. Though, it was covered just as quickly as Izar's sleeve covered the Mark.

Fudge's face flushed crimson as he took his glasses from his nose. "I believe, Headmaster, that you have discovered the tattoo not of a terrorist, but of a hormonal teenaged boy." The Minister cleared his throat. Pity the Minister didn't realize the boy in the bed was anything _but _a hormonal teenaged boy. Izar was far too mature to consider the tattoo as means to express his attractions. No, Severus concluded that Izar wanted the Mark to take shape of something that would poke the Dark Lord smugly in the side.

"Come along, Undersecretary Riddle, I believe we have more important things to look into." Fudge threw one last scandalized look at Izar Black before making his escape.

Dumbledore stood stiffly as the two politicians made their way past him and out the infirmary. When Albus' gaze landed imploringly on Snape, the potions master just shook his head in response. Let the fool think he hadn't known about Izar's altered Mark.

With on last glower from a protective Regulus, Dumbledore calmly left the infirmary.

Snape decided now was the time to leave. After all, he had sated the curiosity that made him stay beside Regulus in the first place…

He turned to leave, his cloak snapping at his heels.

"Severus…"

Pausing, onyx eyes looked over his shoulder at Regulus Black. The younger male offered a sly smile. Immediately, Snape became suspicious.

"Don't think I didn't notice the shape of your Patronus…" Regulus paused, his charcoal eyes alighting. "It's the same shape as my Animagus form." The foolish man was too smug.

Snape offered a deep sneer in response before leaving the infirmary.

* * *

{**Notes**} Next chapter is the last chapter for part one. Sorry for the typos. It's late and I'm exhausted.


	32. Part I Chapter 32

{**Notes**} The beginning of this chapter is… a mess. It was intentionally done that way to reflect Izar's inner thoughts and feelings.

Thanks for the reviews last chapter!

**Chapter Thirty Two**

"Is… is he going to be ok?" Daphne whispered. She was near tears as she crouched down near Izar, looking at his unresponsive face.

Regulus sighed softly, his hand still holding that of his son's. He locked eyes with Izar's charcoal-green. The boy was awake, yet he had reverted into his mind, not seeing anything, not feeling anything, only watching. The boy was shattered completely.

"Madam Pomfrey confirmed that there was brain activity inside," Regulus began hesitantly. "He was not Kissed, yet he has withdrawn himself mentally." _Which is to be expected. _Izar had been through a lot this year; Regulus was just astonished that Izar had lasted so long. It was an odd sensation… he wanted to take away his son's pain, his torment, and smother him. But he knew smothering Izar was the last thing he should be doing.

The Malfoy heir moved closer to Izar, his face twisted in bemusement. He reached out a hand and waved it in front of Izar's face. As predicted, Izar was unblinking as he stared forward, not even a muscle twitching at the blonde's actions.

"Malfoy," Daphne hissed, her cheeks blossoming with crimson. "You're a callous bastard."

Just like his father, Draco turned his heel and stared down the young witch in front of him. Lucius was known for looking down his nose to those who insulted him. "It wasn't meant to be a callous gesture, _Greengrass_, I was just curious to see how far he was gone." Draco lifted his nose, sniffing.

Regulus issued another sigh, shaking his head. He couldn't handle children tempers and he couldn't handle the harsh truth that Izar was, indeed, _gone_. "Please, why don't you two come back in a few days? He just woke up this morning, I will send word if his condition has changed." He bluffed lightly, not intending to share Izar with anyone more than he needed to.

Regulus had woken this morning, stiff from his position in his chair, only to see that Izar's stunning eyes were open. His hopes had fallen when he tried to speak with his son. Izar had only looked at him in child-like wonder, blinking only when his eyes needed the moisture. Blinking and swallowing were the only signs that Izar was alive and not a pretty corpse. Even his eyes had lost their usual liveliness. Madam Promfrey had informed Regulus that Izar's state was normal for patients withdrawn in their own minds.

The worst was far from over.

Leaning forward, Regulus cupped Izar's hand tighter, ignoring the two Slytherins as they quietly left him.

**-----**

His brother placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Regulus, his face showing signs of his emotional state, smiled grimly up at Sirius. "You need a shave, little brother," Sirius mused fondly, reaching over to scratch Regulus' growing goatee.

It had been three days since Izar had woken up without signs that he hadn't been Kissed.

Regulus had remained stubbornly at his son's side. He ate what he needed to, slept awkwardly in the bed next to his son, and showered quickly— always rushing to get back to Izar's side. But there was never any change. Izar was a stubborn boy. He would come out of his mind when he was ready.

Sirius leaned down toward Izar, giving a roguish smile. "Hey there buddy," Sirius managed as Izar stared back at him listlessly.

Regulus held his breath as Izar blinked at Sirius before turning his head away from the two and toward the door of the infirmary. Was it a response? Was Izar finally managing to break through the barrier he set up to protect himself?

Looking up, Regulus found himself scowling darkly when he saw who stood a few paces away from Izar's bed. Riddle's stance was as calm as his expression. His attention was only for the figure in the bed. The Undersecretary had his hands clasped behind his back as his eyes drank Izar's face almost obsessively.

"Izar?" Regulus stood up, peering down at his son. The boy had reacted for _Riddle_, how ironic that Izar could feel him even in his current state. "Izar," he called again softly.

His son began to shake uncontrollably as he kept his languid attention on Riddle. Quiet whimpers escaped the child's dried lips as he continued to tremble. Somehow, deep within himself, Izar knew Riddle was standing near—the very wizard who was to blame for his current position.

Damning the consequences, Regulus placed his arm in front of Izar's face, blocking the two's exchange. "Get out," Regulus whispered angrily. "Get out, damnit!"

Riddle finally tore his attention away from the lithe figure on the bed and considered Regulus calmly, darkly. Regulus decided it was Sirius' presence that held Riddle's tongue, for the Dark Lord in disguise offered one last cool look before turning his heel and escaping the infirmary.

Regulus found himself shaking just as frenziedly as his son.

{**Death of Today**}

With a shudder, he snapped his eyes open to nothing but darkness. He made a noise of disagreement, lost, dizzy, scared, and unsure of where he was. His body trembled and he issued a series of terrified noises in his throat.

"Please…" he whispered brokenly. He clawed at the darkness, unsure of what was waiting for him on the other side of the blackness.

In the deepest recess of his mind, he could feel the slight pull to his right side. How did he know there was someone slumbering beside his bedside? It was almost… almost if he could sense them, their magic. But how? How was that possible?

He shook, the soft ground beneath him becoming damp with the quantity of sweat he exuded.

"Izar?"

The young boy flinched harshly as a hand touched him. Desolately, he couldn't escape the hand… their hands. They were everywhere; cold, unfeeling, callous… they were so cold. Almost burning. Izar made a noise of disagreement as the hand came at him again. As he felt the fingers curl around his arm, he screamed hysterically.

"Izar!" The voice shouted once again, this time, almost as hysterically as his own scream.

That name was familiar to him, he should have known it. Was it his own? Yes… yes it was his own. Izar Harrison. Or. Izar Black. Or freak. That's what _they_ called him. They—the children at the orphanage. But why would the Dementor be speaking to him like a human? With concern in their voice? Dementors didn't _speak. _

Izar screamed as the darkness consumed him, thrashing around as hands held him down to the soft ground beneath him.

Candles flared to life, casting light around his outer vision. But Izar was still cast in the shadows, unable to tear himself away from the Dementors, the darkness… the memories. Oh, the memories. Memories… He cried out, struggling against the strong hold. Even if the corners of his vision were cast in light, the vision directly in front of him was dark, void. The hands holding him down were a rotting grey and cold, burning.

Always cold.

Quick footsteps made their way closer to Izar. He panicked, clawing at the Dementor above him. He fought. He wouldn't allow himself to be drowned in tormenting memories again. No. Not this time. His fingers reached out and his nails scratched across soft flesh. But why would his Dementor have soft skin? Shouldn't it be rotting? Why would there be hair stubble across the skin?

"Izar please," the Dementor crooned and the hands remained strong. Strong, but not painfully unyielding. The touch on his arms slowly became a comfortable warm—not as hot as the chilling cold they once were. "Please, my son." Warm breath tickled the side of Izar's ear. "You're safe with me, I will never harm you."

Izar's pulse slowed and his vision slowly brightened. A man panted above him, looking more afraid than exhausted. The short goatee, the black hair… charcoal eyes…

"F-father," Izar whispered vulnerably.

The man paused above him, looking surprised before he cleared his expression to that of warm concern. Yes, Izar remembered now. Regulus, he was Regulus. Izar had never called Regulus 'father' before, it would have surprised the man above him. Nonetheless, Regulus nodded, appearing relieved.

"Yes, my son. You're alright, everything is fine," the man soothed softly, reaching forward and stroking Izar's cheek.

The younger pulled away, breathing shallowly as he tried to make sense of everything. He wasn't laying on soft ground. Instead, it was a cot in the Hospital Wing. His eyes blinked as he adjusted to the light of the candles, seeing the other beds in the room and the woman standing near. She was familiar as well…

Izar shut his eyes, shuddering. Madam Pomfrey. It was her name and he grasped at the memories.

"Regulus," the woman began hesitantly. "Should I get a claming draught?"

"No Poppy, he'll be just fine."

Izar pursed his lips. A calming draught was a potion. A potion that he learned in Potions class—the class with the hooked nose Professor Snape. A class at Hogwarts… the same school that was hosting the Triwizard Tournament. He knew. It was slowly coming back to him. Everything was trying to break through the hazy shield in his mind, a shield he knew he had constructed himself to forget. To forget everything. But most of the things he stored away couldn't get past the shields.

He didn't want to remember, he _wouldn't_.

He inhaled noisily as Regulus reached for him again. Everything was too hazy and confusing, but he leaned into the embrace, burying his face into his father's shoulder.

Somewhere, behind the shield he constructed, he knew he should have never showed such vulnerability. He was stronger than this, or, he assumed he was. But that was a distant memory right now. Right now, there was someone here who wanted to comfort him, to share his pain.

As the curtains shut around the bed, giving them privacy, Regulus laid down next to Izar on the bed, holding him close.

"Don't retreat into your mind again, Izar," Regulus whispered softly as he noticed Izar's stiffness. "I don't know if I can handle seeing you in such a state again." His arms linked with Izar's as he brushed his son's hair. "No matter how painful it is to remember, you must accept what happened. I'm right here with you, there will be no more Dementors."

Izar clutched at Regulus' front robes, looking up at his father through lowered lashes. "It's all…fuzzy…" he admitted, sounding childish. Somewhere within his mind, another part of himself winced at how small he sounded.

Regulus leaned forward, kissing him on the corner of his mouth. "That is to be expected," the man conceded. "You just need to break that barrier. Madam Pomfrey and Severus claimed you would need to break the barrier in order to remember everything."

Izar eyed the man distrustfully. That didn't sound right. Why would Regulus even consider something as painful as that? "If I break it, I'll have to remember it all… all of it." He looked down at their interlocking arms. The thought of remembering all of the pain made him frightened, scared. "Why can't I just stay like this?" he asked innocently.

Regulus' face crumbled and he pressed Izar's face into his shoulder. The man seemed to struggle internally with himself, almost if he debated on telling Izar he needed to break the barrier or not. "If you want to stay like this, Izar, than I cannot fault you. No matter what you decide, I will always be with you," the man whispered in confession.

His father didn't sound remotely convinced. But Izar wanted to stay like this. He didn't want to remember his past self. Trouble and pain only seemed to accompany him. Why would he want to revert back to his old self and go through that much pain again? If he stayed this way, in this child-like state, he would be protected and sheltered. He wouldn't have to deal with anything too difficult. He would be oblivious to everything around him.

He liked that.

He liked that security and comfort.

But… why did it feel as if he never felt this security before? Why did it make him unsettled to depend on his father for protection?

Izar sighed into his father, inhaling the man's scent. As he looked down, exhausted, his eyes caught sight of his left hand. Furrowing his brows, Izar wondered why it was so troubling seeing his left hand naked, exposed. Why did he feel so surprised and horrified to see his hand? He didn't understand the dark sensation when he looked at his bare skin. He did, however, notice the Celtic band on his finger.

What was it for again?

Izar's face furrowed as a memory slipped from the barrier and to the forefront of his mind.

He remembered seeing himself in a black ice-like maze. But there were differences to this Izar…

_This Izar had short sleeves. On the mirror image's left forearm, Voldemort's Dark Mark sat, appearing blacker than ever. This Izar had no fingerless glove upon his left hand and it revealed the Celtic band to Voldemort. The other Izar also slumped, appearing shorter than usual… but the eyes were the most noticeable difference. While they were still charcoal-green, they had no brightness to them. They were defeated… submissive. _

Izar flinched; struggling against himself when he remembered the memory was that of a boggart… he remembered vowing to himself that fear would never come to pass. There would never be a time he would be so defeated—a failure.

With dread weighing in his stomach, Izar looked up and into Regulus' eyes. He saw himself reflected back in the man's pupils. Gazing within the eyes, Izar saw himself as a small child, a small defeated, lost child who depended too much on others.

It was his fear coming to play. The boggart had won.

Izar tipped back his head, screaming as he mentally shattered the barrier in his mind.

He would always keep his promises to himself.

The memories raced forward, drowning him.

Leaning forward in Regulus' arms, he began to weep.

{**Death of Today**}

The rain was like a balm to his mind.

The young wizard sat peacefully on a stone bench on top the tower, raising his face toward the sky. Even through closed eyelids, he could see the warm golden hue of the sun. The weather was beautiful out today, matching Izar's peaceful and serene mood. The rain was a slight drizzle, yet the clouds in the sky weren't dark and overbearing. Instead, they were highlighted by the bright sun, setting the sky in a golden hue.

Izar inhaled deeply, trying to block out the cheers below as the Beauxbatons carriages flew off into the horizon and the ship for the Durmstrang students sunk into the lake. A part of him wanted to say a farewell to Cyprien and, surprisingly, Steinar. Both Champions had survived the Death Eater attack with nothing but a few bumps and bruises. In Steinar's case, a few locks of hair had been cut off as he was found unconscious in his ship's bedroom.

Izar had a feeling he would see them in the distant future.

Sighing softly, he shivered as he felt a lone raindrop slide down the length of his face.

The past two weeks had been spent in isolation. The only people he came in contact with were the test examiners for the NEWTs and Regulus and Sirius. A few days before the NEWTs had begun Dumbledore had approached him and informed Izar that the Board of Governors made a special exception for him to take the NEWTs whenever he wished. Izar had quietly denied, claiming he was ready to take them despite the current events.

He hadn't studied and he hadn't been very prepared, but he believed he had passed with enough points to be worth something. Perhaps not with the top marks he wanted, but at least he was _done_, done with Hogwarts…

After every exam session, Izar hurried from the crowded halls of Hogwarts and disappeared into Sirius' chambers. Regulus resided inside his brother's private chambers and tried to keep Izar company. Most the time, Izar sat quietly on his bed, trying to put his tattered mind together. Other times, when he was feeling particularly stable, he ventured out of his room and sat with Regulus and Sirius.

His mind was still fragile. And it would take a while to heal mentally, physically, and emotionally.

Regulus seemed to recognize Izar's fragility, for he came up with a solution.

Izar, Regulus, and Sirius were disappearing for three months. Originally, it was just going to be Regulus and Izar, but Sirius had tagged along at the last minute. The three were going to travel to a few Black estates around the world, never staying in one place for too long. No one knew of their plans, save for Owen Welder, the Head Unspeakable. Izar had owled the man and informed him he wouldn't be at work for the course of the summer. Izar also let the man know he had graduated early and planned to be at the Ministry year round.

Despite Welder knowing Izar would be absent from work, the man knew nothing more.

The three Blacks wanted to keep it a secret. They wouldn't be interrupted when Izar was healing. The young Black heir knew it was probably the worse time to leave the wizarding world behind, but he knew he had to recover from this… this situation.

What happened this past year would make him stronger, he knew as much. It would probably alter him into a different wizard… but right now, he still felt like a newborn kitten; useless, vulnerable, and dependent.

The memories from his orphanage had been the most difficult to face up to. Ever since Hogwarts started five years ago, Izar had buried the traumatic events in the back of his mind, only keeping his hate for Muggles in the forefront. Whenever he remembered what happened at the orphanage, he was reminded how helpless he had been to their assault. When he looked back at the horrifying events, he felt tarnished and weak.

He never wanted to feel weak and helpless again. Regulus had been near when Izar recounted some of the memories. His father was a solid body in his world at the moment. Izar wasn't sure if he was frightened of such a strong bond or relieved that his father was there with him.

Izar tipped his head back down, rain dropping from the tip of his nose. Next to him, his fingers ran through the owl's feathers. Through hooded eyes, he watched as the clouds slowly began to clear up.

The hardest thing to come to terms with, with the exception of the orphanage memories, had been the betrayal. Even if he found it hard to admit, Izar had trusted Lord Voldemort. They always had a shaky relationship, but it had gotten stronger through the course of the year. Trusting such a powerful dark wizard was always difficult for Izar. He never liked authority in his childhood and he never trusted adults. To form a trust with Voldemort had been alien and unsteady at best.

Now… now the bond had snapped and severed completely. Right now, in Izar's mental state, he didn't think he would ever be able to trust the man again.

He wondered if he would feel the same in a few months from now, after an extended stay away from Voldemort.

Regulus had informed Izar that his Dark Mark was uncovered in front of Dumbledore, Fudge, Snape, and Voldemort. Izar knew it would eventually be uncovered for Voldemort, hence the reason he had altered the Mark into such a provocative image. It was arrogant and cheeky on Izar's behalf. When he altered the Mark, he knew he would possibly be punished and that's why he changed the mark into a scantly clad female. It would have served as some humor through his pain.

Right now, he didn't think it was so amusing.

Izar sighed, feeling the aura close in on him. He didn't expect Voldemort to stay away, especially when Regulus informed him that Riddle had visited on a few occasions when he was in the infirmary.

But he wasn't _ready _to face the man. Any manipulations the Dark Lord would twist today may affect and take hold of Izar in his weakened state.

Quickly grabbing the pouch of gold coins, Izar read over the small bit of parchment he placed inside the velvet money bag.

_For the repayment I owed you. _

Dumbledore had given Izar the Triwizard award money under the radar. The Headmaster hadn't thought it was appropriate to throw a celebration for Izar when the French were grieving for their Minister. Izar had agreed, accepting the money with numbness. He hadn't wanted to keep the money of the Tournament, the very same Tournament that brought him so much pain. Instead, he decided to give it to the one man he owed.

"Bring this to Ollivander, girl," Izar murmured softly to the owl.

Riddle's aura was closing on him and Izar tied the pouch around the owl's leg. The tawny owl gave a hoot before taking off into the sky.

Izar hunched in on himself, curling his arms around his stomach when he heard the man come to a stop next to him. He tried to hide his hands from the man's view. They were trembling, as was his insides. He couldn't do this; he couldn't face the man so early.

But he would because he had to.

"Congratulations," Izar spoke softly, watching as the owl flew through the sky. He remained facing forward, unable to meet the man's eyes. "From what I've heard, the Dark Lord's debut was a thrilling spectacle." He tried to pitch his voice in sarcasm, but it was too weak, too shaky to be anything biting.

"Many thanks to you," the man replied. "After all, it was your invention that aided to the success."

Izar bowed his head toward his knees, struggling to pull himself together. He could feel the blood drain from his face and his body began to shudder as he thought back to his Portkey. Breathing raggedly, Izar smiled bitterly. Yes, it was his own invention that destroyed his mind. How… ironic.

Silence spread across the two. If Riddle was waiting for Izar to respond, the man must be rather _thick. _Izar didn't want to speak to him, not in the least.

"There are many things I could have done differently, Izar."

Izar's eyes flashed and he turned to point his finger at the man. "You _fucked _up, you hear me? You destroyed me. Or perhaps that was your plan all along. I would never know, you never tell me anything."

Riddle stood calmly near the bench Izar sat at, not seemingly affected by the Ravenclaw's words. But why would he be? He was higher up than Izar; Izar was just a bloody joke to the man. "I can see that you're… a bit torn. However, it's not something that can't be healed. I can help you with your mind—,"

Izar gave a dry laugh, shaking his head as he turned away from the man. "If you think I'd trust you enough to let you in my _mind_, you have another thing coming to you." Izar breathed deeply, trying to calm his shaking body.

"I sent Avery to imitate Steinar because he was one of my best duelists. He's been in my Inner Circle since I was a boy at Hogwarts. I trusted him to inform you of the dangers of touching the Cup. I intended him to bind you, but I can see that I underestimated and overestimated both you and him. You bested him in a duel and I put too much trust in one of my followers. A mistake that will never be repeated."

Izar shook his head again, a bit too sharply as his neck snapped. "He hated me over Yuletide. Couldn't you see that was a rather unwise decision?" He found himself rocking back and forth on the bench, twitching. He couldn't help it. The more he tried to calm his shaking, the harder it became.

"I believed his loyalty to me would have outweighed his hate for you." There was a dark edge to the man's voice and Izar rocked back and forth quicker. "Clearly I was wrong."

"And?" Izar whispered, slowly feeling himself withdraw once again. He just had to know. He had to. "Why didn't _you _tell me? Why didn't you tell me the whole Tournament was a mockery? Why did you encourage me to win the bloody thing if it would have ended up killing me?"

He continued to rock.

Riddle stepped forward, reaching for Izar. The Black heir gave a breathless gasp as he pulled away like a frightened animal. "Don't touch me," Izar hissed fiercely. He looked into the expressionless eyes of Riddle. "I'll tell you when _I'm _ready for that step."

The Dark Lord, sitting on his haunches before Izar, lifted his hands in surrender. He was watching Izar closely, too closely.

"You're mind and eyes are an open book, child. When I use Legilimency, I harm my victims. I enjoy the brutal rape of the mind. On the other spectrum, there is Dumbledore. He does not favor my cruel amusement with Legilimency. When he uses Legilimency, his victims who aren't skilled in Occlumency are none the wisest at his probing. His reach into like mind resembles smoke as it slips unnoticed."

Riddle paused, reaching again for Izar. This time, his hand closed around Izar's knee, tightening. Izar sat motionless, somewhere in his mind, he was listening to the man's explanation, but outwardly, he was gone. Riddle hadn't told him about his plans for the Tournament because Izar wasn't skilled in Occlumency.

Why must Izar be so _weak_? Why couldn't he learn Occlumency? Why couldn't he stand taller?

Occlumency was one of his most desired talents to learn. He had tried many years to construct barriers in his mind against Legilimens, but every time, he had failed. It was similar to dueling; only, he had gotten better at dueling. Why couldn't Occlumency be the same?

"If I would have told you about the Cup and the Tournament, he would have seen that in your mind. He was constantly looking into your mind, Izar," Riddle paused, allowing it to sink in. "I also wanted you to try your hardest during the First and Second Task. If you would have known it to be a farce, you wouldn't have put all your effort into the Tasks. I wanted your debut to the wizarding world to be positive."

Izar stared down at his fingerless glove. The Celtic band on his finger bound his virginity to the man before him, but it also protected the secret of Voldemort' status as a creature. If Dumbledore looked into Izar's mind, he would only see muddled information that was meaningless. Why couldn't Voldemort have used a similar protection and told Izar before the Third Task not to touch the Cup?

Fury laced Izar's belly as Voldemort curled both hands around his biceps, bringing him closer. Their foreheads were pressed together and Riddle caressed Izar's arms. "I have a private home on a beach. No one knows of its location and I know you'll love it. Let me bring you with me for a few days and we can both relax. I can help you heal your mind. I can assist you with anything you wish…" the man trailed off huskily.

"I don't trust you," Izar whispered darkly, without hesitation.

Riddle paused suddenly, his face twisting in rage. "I'm not going to apologize to you, simply because what happened was an unfortunate twist in plans, not a fault of _mine_. Avery will be punished severely for his mistakes and I have already avenged you for what the French dared to do to you. I've said it once and I will say it again, you're protection is important to me." Brown eyes pierced through Izar, seeing everything.

Izar closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Someday, I'd enjoy that house on a beach, Tom. But right now, I need to heal on my own and construct my mind away from your influence." It was the first time he called the Dark Lord _Tom. _It was heavy on his tongue and it didn't sound right.

Before Riddle could retort, Sirius stumbled noisily up on the top of the tower, eyeing the two wizards in suspicion.

Izar stood up, feeling the anger, the longing and challenge coming from the Dark Lord's aura. He kept his back to the man, hoping that when he came back to Britain, he would be stronger. Refusing the Dark Lord's offer had been difficult, but Izar was able to do it—even in his weakened state.

A light smirk crossed his lips as he made his way toward Sirius. Why did he feel better after the conversation with the arrogant bastard? Izar hated the man currently, but he couldn't deny that he felt lighter. He supposed it was because he was dancing another game, another power play with the Dark Lord. If the man was angry now—Izar wondered how furious he would be once he realized Izar would be gone for three months.

Izar always _did _enjoy irritating the man and gaining as much leeway as possible. And that came to another realization.

He had avoided a conversation involving the manipulated Dark Mark.

As he joined Sirius, he caught sight of Regulus standing at the foot of the steps.

"Are you alright, kid?" Sirius murmured gently, bemused at the smirk Izar wore. The man looked back at Riddle, musing.

Izar lifted his chin, offering his uncle a tight smile.

"I will be."

* * *

{**Notes**} Part II is next. It will also be a time skip, three months at most. It will also be continued on this story link- under 'Death of Today'.

What's happening in Part II?

Izar will mature and become more confident with himself and his abilities, perhaps darker as well. Even if he's exceptionally mature at the moment, he isn't necessarily… ready to play with the adults. Next part, he will be. He will be able to dance more easily and duel more successfully. After all, even if Regulus wants Izar to 'heal' for three months, you don't expect Izar to do nothing, do you? He'll be inventing, dueling, among other things.

Also, you'll learn about Cygnus' Curse. You'll get the battle custody with Lily, Voldemort's creature, and what everyone is waiting for… Voldemort/Izar action… and… wait… is that a few _inches _in height, Izar?


	33. Part II Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Voldemort stroked the supple cheek with the back of his hand, enjoying the tight coils in his belly at the physical contact. It had been far too long… "My child," he hissed into his lover's ear. Leaning forward, Voldemort placed his lips on the sensitive skin below the ear, knowing that Izar always found that endearing. _

"_T-Tom," the boy whispered. _

_The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes, the pleasure in his stomach slowly souring in anger. That name… it dirtied the child's lips. "Don't call me that," Voldemort murmured, trying to hide his fury beneath a husky hiss. "You are far too pure to utter such a dirty name." _

_His fingers stroked the boy's silky strands. With a possessive tug, Voldemort continued to pull at the tight waves of his lover's hair. _

"_No…" Izar whispered pathetically. _

_Crimson eyes narrowed further at the broken and suffering tone. He could never remember a time when Izar had sounded so weak, so pathetic. Reluctantly, his fingers left Izar's hair and he took a step back, eyeing the younger wizard _

_Izar's fingers curled into his shirt, clutching his chest as if he were in pain. The boy hunched over, his usually flawless face, blotched red with strain and suffering. "It… its… inside…" Izar panted, pulling at his shirt, staring up at Voldemort in desperation. _

_Voldemort took another step backward, critically eyeing the boy as his alluring charcoal-green eyes turned onyx. _

"_It's in me, please… please help me. Help me. Help me." _

"_What's in you?" Voldemort demanded, reaching for his wand. His fingers only touched an empty pocket. _

_Izar whimpered as his fingers moved from his chest to his hair. He started pulling at it angrily and Voldemort tsked, reaching forward to curl his hands around the boy's bony wrists. "Stop that," he scolded. The boy suddenly stilled, his hands still curling at the roots of his hair. "Izar?" Voldemort called. _

_Izar lifted his chin, his eyes no longer an inky black but all white. The boy opened his mouth wide and issued a scream that sent Voldemort backing away, goose bumps dancing the length of his flesh. _

Crimson eyes slowly opened before they narrowed sharply in consideration. With a disgusted grimace, he realized his arms were still littered with goose bumps and his ears still rung with Izar's scream.

It was time for his child to come home.

{**Death of Today**}

_Assassination Attempt on Undersecretary Riddle!_

The _Prophet _folded over, allowing charcoal-green eyes to lock with the expected stare of his father. "You don't suppose that's true, do you?" Izar asked Regulus. Izar then slid his gaze across the breakfast table to Sirius. The man had his head bowed over his plate, seemingly not paying attention. His elbows moved at rapid speeds as he shoveled food into his mouth.

Izar's lip lifted as he watched pieces of scrambled egg fall from the corner of Sirius' mouth and stick to his chin. Unfortunately, Izar wasn't too surprised with the display. Sirius probably ran away from home and to the Potters around the time he was learning table etiquette at the Blacks. Through the course of the summer, Izar had to put up with Sirius' ghastly performances at the dinning table.

Regulus sipped at his tea. The man had read the _Prophet _long before Izar had even gotten up. For as long as Izar could remember, he had been an early riser. Even in the orphanage he would be up before the other children. Now, it seemed as if his teenaged body was growing favorable to late mornings in bed and longer nights awake.

"I expect there to be some truth to it," Regulus responded crisply, his eyes hard. He had no love for the Dark Lord. "However, Tom Riddle has probably had many failed assassination attempts over the course of his days in office. I believe he manipulated the _Prophet _in order to gain your attention. He wants you back with him in Britain. Remember what happened on your birthday?"

Izar leaned against his chair, his breakfast long forgotten. He found his attention locked on the moving photograph on the front page. Riddle. The young Black gave a dry snort, his eyes tracing the length of Riddle, hating that he was almost obsessed with an image of the man he hadn't seen in three, almost four months.

"Yes, I remember, all too well…"

Izar tore his eyes from Riddle as the Undersecretary spoke somberly to the press.

"Your orphanage burned to the crisp. The Muggles authorities were bemused that the occupants inside the building couldn't escape. The wizarding world, on the other hand, knew that the exits were sealed shut before catching fire." Regulus began as if Izar _hadn't _known what happened.

The young wizard flashed a look at his father. "The second public act of the Death Eaters happened to be killing orphans," Izar mused, a bit amused. The Dark Mark had been cast over the orphanage after the attack. The wizarding world had obviously recognized the Mark from the Triwizard Tournament and the fear was starting to become thicker around Britain.

"He wanted to draw you out of hiding then, this is no different."

Izar's lips thinned. He didn't know what he felt about the death of all the children inside the orphanage. It had been his home for the past fifteen years; it should have affected him somehow. Instead, he felt a bit impassive about the whole thing. He felt no pity for the lives lost, no pity for the building, and no triumph over the destruction of the hellhole. Izar was unsure of Voldemort's motives behind burning the orphanage. Had the man done it in spite of Izar? Or had he done it as means to avenge Izar and also try to lure him out of hiding?

"Don't forget that dear Bellatrix has been hot on our trail ever since you stepped foot out of Britain," Sirius retorted into his half-eaten sausage. The man's gleeful eyes caught Izar's growing smile before flashing a wink.

Izar would never forget the events that transpired in the first month of their summer. They had settled at the Black manor in northern Britain.

"_No," Izar declined, a bit irritated. The man wouldn't take 'no' for a bloody answer. _

_Sirius swam toward him, a mocking frown to his face. Izar and Sirius had just escaped the confinements of the manor against Regulus' order to stay within the wards. Sirius had been the one to disregard the orders as he pulled Izar outside the manor and toward the cool lake. At first, Izar had stubbornly stayed on the shore of the lake, hating the whole situation. But after being pushed into the water by a grinning Sirius, Izar had relaxed enough to strip down to his boxers and enjoy the lake's cool escape from the glaring sun. _

_That is, until Sirius started nagging him about doing a flip off the cusp of his hands. It was childish, immature, and Izar would have no part in it. He already had to put up with Sirius' close examination of his manipulated Dark Mark. The man had chuckled merrily, praising Izar of appreciating the 'fairer sex' and teased he might get a matching tattoo. Pity the man already had several tattoos on his body... _

_Izar turned away from the approaching figure of Sirius and froze when he saw another figure advance stealthily toward the lake. Her black curls veiled her face, but Izar knew exactly who it was. _

"_Look who it is," she laughed joyously, clutching her wand in her hand. "My wayward nephew. The Dark Lord is rather angry with you; I wouldn't try anything to upset him even more…" _

_Sirius turned, grimacing. Within seconds his face morphed into one of determined amusement. The man reached toward his clothes on the shore and called his wand to him wandlessly. "Go, Izar," Sirius pushed at Izar's shoulder. "I'll distract her while you run to the wards." _

_Izar had no arguments with that. He didn't have his wand and Sirius was an Auror. The man could take care of himself. _

_Stumbling onto dry land, trying to get used to his own weight, Izar grabbed his clothes. Bellatrix stood in his way, pointing her wand directly at his face. Before she could cause any harm, Sirius finally stepped in. Unfortunately, when Izar thought that Sirius could take care of himself because he was an Auror, he thought the man would kick arse. He should have never overestimated Sirius…_

_The man's spell hit Bellatrix in the face. Her black curls suddenly turned a shocking color of crimson and gold and her eyebrows were burnt off. _

_Izar blinked before sprinting past the surprised Bellatrix. As he neared the Black wards that would deny Bellatrix entrance, he heard her screech of rage and Sirius' loud bark-like laughter. _

_Only when Izar made it safely on the other of the wards, he turned around and stared, speechless. _

_Sirius was running away from Bellatrix, clutching at his wet boxers to keep them from falling down. They were weighing him down and he seemed to realize this, for he let his boxers go. The man sprinted quickly away from Bellatrix's oncoming hexes, nude. His laughs turned into high-pitched screeches, intentionally mimicking the witch's screams behind him. _

_Izar stared, feeling something swell in his chest and belly as he watched the nude form of Sirius lead Bellatrix around in tight circles, matching her screeches. _

_He gave a chocked-cough before the awkward chuckles turned into peals of laughter. His lithe body shook with the power of the laughter and his vision blurred with tears. Izar suddenly felt lighter than he had in… forever. Even catching sight of the approaching figure of his father didn't stop his laughter. Regulus looked furious, but when the charcoal eyes rested on Izar, his expression lightened and a sly smile crossed his lips. _

"_He hasn't changed one bit," Regulus murmured fondly as he watched Bellatrix and Sirius dance around each other. _

Remembering the incident brought a light smile on Izar's face. It had been immensely amusing watching as Sirius had finally fallen to the ground as one of Bellatrix's hexes caught his heel. Regulus eventually had to assist his older brother and they had quickly moved locations to Russia. Izar hoped that Bellatrix had returned to the Dark Lord with her Gryffindor-colored hair and loss of eyebrows.

Across the table, Regulus shook his head at the memory before sending a stern stare to Sirius. The man had already had a 'talk' with Sirius about the incident. A stern talking with his younger brother didn't seem to frighten Sirius, though. The man shrugged it off and continued to do his obnoxious, yet slightly amusing tactics.

Because Bellatrix was the only one in Voldemort's service who knew of most the Black estates, she had been the lone Death Eater trailing them. The wards Regulus placed up around the estates blocked her from even seeing inside the barrier, let alone entering past them. They were safe unless Bellatrix caught sight of one of them outside the wards.

Izar looked back down at his uneaten breakfast. It had been a relaxing few months. Originally, they were only going to stay away from Britain for three months at the most, but Regulus had claimed Izar needed more time. The Black heir didn't feel as if he did, but he listened to his father and continued to enjoy the vacation while it lasted. His mind had healed several weeks into the summer and since then, he tried to reinforce it.

While he worked on his mind, he also worked on his dueling and inventions. Unfortunately, Sirius and Izar had exhausted their dueling partnership. It was beginning to be a struggle for Sirius to hold his own against Izar. It had both pleased Sirius and irritated him as he tauntingly claimed that the student should never overshadow the Master.

Thinking he would need to continue practicing on his own, Regulus had surprised Izar as he stepped in as a worthy opponent. For the first few months of the summer, Regulus had disproved of Izar doing anything strenuous. Obviously, Regulus had come to terms with Izar's restlessness and chose to aid his son in dueling.

The man's persona was a direct opposite of Sirius' joking and light aura. Instead, Regulus was serious when he dueled with Izar, with almost a dark spark in his eyes. While Izar gained the upper hand over Regulus most of the time, he still struggled to surpass his father every time. Regulus had a few of his own invented spells up his sleeve and matched Izar's creativity. And unlike Sirius, Regulus had darker magic. A few nasty spells always managed to slip past Izar's shields and he had to focus on alternatives such as dodging and ducking.

When the mood struck Izar, he sometimes asked both the Black brothers to duel against him.

While this summer was meant to heal Izar, he realized that the vacation also benefited the other two. He could see the shadows beneath Regulus' and Sirius' eyes lighten before disappearing completely. Both men had been under a lot of stress and a few months away from their problems had lightened the weight on their shoulders.

But Izar wasn't a fool. All their problems weren't _gone, _they were just put on hold. He wondered how long it would take for reality to destroy their images once again.

Izar had his own demons to battle.

The three hadn't spoken about heavy topics, save for Izar's days in the orphanage. Aside from that, they hadn't spoken of past events, sides of the war, or futures.

Today was the day Izar was going to remedy that. Regulus was sheltering him. And while Izar was grateful for Regulus—and Sirius, he wasn't a young boy.

They needed to go back to Britain. Although Izar was enjoying the break, he felt an itch to go back. He didn't like dwelling in the safety of the wards when a war was brewing outside. "I suppose we need to go back, nonetheless," Izar started attentively. He touched the _Prophet _and pushed it away from him slightly. "Even if Riddle hadn't been targeted, I believe we should head back to Britain."

Silence spread across the table, but Izar nodded. Yes, it was time.

Regulus was the first to break the stillness of the morning. "Are you certain you're ready, Izar? Are you ready to face _him_?" Regulus nodded at the _Prophet _with his chin, yet his eyes remained locked on Izar, watching and waiting for a reaction.

Only, Izar lifted his chin, a cool expression on his face. "I am more than ready to face Tom Riddle, Regulus." And that was the truth.

For two months, Izar had stewed and vented his anger and hate for the Dark Lord. But after his childish tantrum had passed, he had come to terms with what had happened. There were many mistakes on each other's part. Izar should have stood up to Voldemort a bit more about the Tournament and he shouldn't have been so blinded to the manipulations flying under the radar. Voldemort, on the other hand, made a mistake by putting Avery Senior in charge of going after Izar. There were other ways to go about the Tournament's conclusion, but it had been a true and honest mistake.

Even Dark Lords made mistakes.

While Izar had come to terms with it and accepted it as a human mistake, he _did _reassure himself that Voldemort would need to kiss his arse before Izar put anymore trust in the man. He would make the man work. It wouldn't be easy for the Dark Lord to get Izar back to where they were before.

And there was also the pain he knew was waiting for him. Despite Izar wanting a bit of equality from Voldemort, he knew the man was a Dark Lord and had every right to hand out punishments. Voldemort wouldn't be pleased with Izar's absence and he wouldn't be pleased with the Dark Mark's manipulation.

Maybe the both of them would be angry with the other. And when they were both angry, their heads would clash.

Regulus gave a small nod as he recognized Izar's sturdy-will behind his masked face.

"Are _you_ ready?" Izar countered softly. He breathed deeply, keeping himself on track. "You need to be Marked on your return, no doubt. Are you ready for that?" Even Regulus knew he would have to go through pain upon his initiation. He had betrayed the Dark Lord almost sixteen years ago; he would not be welcomed warmly into the Dark Lord's ranks. Izar would try his best to lighten his father's punishment, but knew he was helpless to the situation.

The silence was even thicker than previously. Sirius pushed his plate away, his face crumbling gravely. Regulus stared at Izar, a warning line to his lips.

"He already knows," Izar murmured, motioning toward Sirius. Charcoal-green eyes studied his quiet uncle. "You're in Dumbledore's Order, aren't you, Sirius? You know damn well that I'm a Death Eater, you know who the Dark Lord Voldemort is, and you know what happened to Regulus all those years ago. And you know about Lily's betrayal to him, don't you?"

Sirius clasped his hands in front of his mouth as he looked at Izar before eyeing Regulus. "I do," Sirius admitted. "Regulus came to me before… before he had to go into hiding. He told me everything that happened."

That was news to Izar. He hadn't known that Sirius was informed about Lily's past doings.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, touching the hot cup of tea with the pads of his fingers. "At the time, I couldn't believe Regulus. I couldn't believe that sweet Lily Evans could lure Regulus around by the neck by telling him she was pregnant with his child. And when Regulus told me she made it all up, that she wasn't pregnant, I told him off. I wouldn't believe that Lily would betray James' loyalty and twist my younger brother so…" Sirius shook his head.

Izar noticed a tick in Regulus' jaw. The man hated replaying this event in his past, but it had to be done. Izar needed to hear it. They both needed to hear this out loud.

Sirius looked up at Izar, a bitter grin across his face. "Regulus and I always had a shaky relationship as children. I didn't approve of his love for the Dark Arts and he didn't approve of my treatment to _Snivellus._" The man's face twisted in disgust.

"Severus," Regulus interrupted harshly. "His name, Sirius, is Severus Snape. I would think, after everything that has happened, you'd be courteous to at least address him by his surname."

Izar leaned forward, intrigued. He remembered Regulus telling him about Sirius' and James' treatment of Snape during Hogwarts. He just hadn't known Sirius' hate for the man was still strong even after all those years. Was it petty dislike? Izar believed it was. It was a child-hate that Sirius had developed for Snape and he hadn't let it go since his days at Hogwarts.

"Snape, then," Sirius growled, flashing a look at Regulus. "I hated that the two of you were so close. Nonetheless, I always loved you. You were my little brother. Yet, even when you came to me about Lily sixteen years ago, I was still distant from you. I picked my friends over you, Regulus, and I'm sorry for that."

Regulus' face closed as he surveyed Sirius. Izar was forgotten in the room, but he wouldn't leave. He wanted to hear this, to see their interaction. He would have thought they had talked about this before, but obviously they hadn't. It was a conversation that needed to be aired out.

Regulus gave a small nod, offering Sirius a small smile. "You realized in the end."

"In the end," Sirius scoffed. "It was too late. When I heard of your 'death', I went to James—devastated. I couldn't believe you had been killed. Your story slowly started to piece together and when I went to James, he confirmed it all." Sirius bowed his head. "He didn't know Lily was pregnant, she hid it from him, but he knew she had an affair with you. He knew everything."

Sirius leaned forward and cupped his hands to his face. "I tried to tell him that it wasn't right, that it was my _brother _she had twisted. I told him he shouldn't stay with a woman who threw away his trust and could ruin a man's life, but he told me he had to stay with her in her time of need. And with Remus gone—,"

"Remus?" Izar interrupted the desperate tirade. He could see the man's aura. It was darkening with emotion.

The dark charcoal eyes of Sirius looked up at Izar. "Remus Lupin," the man whispered softly. "He was one of our good friends at Hogwarts, the only one of us who had a level head. He moved to Switzerland to help out a young boy who was bitten by a werewolf," the man paused, looking down at his hands. "When he arrived, he was attacked and killed by his own sire, Fenrir Greyback. Greyback was thrown into Azkaban. But with Remus gone, I had no one to help me convince James to leave Lily. So… I left him when he didn't see reason. He was always so fascinated with Lily. I never imagined his love for her to go so deep that he became blind to her wrongdoings."

Izar lifted an eyebrow, pleased with his uncle's choice. It may have been hard for the man to walk away from a good friend, but it showed that Sirius held his family in high regard. "And you avoided him since? Aren't you two both Aurors?"

"Oh, I tried to avoid him," Sirius began. "We're in separate departments in our Auror division, but I'd see him from time to time. He would try to explain to me that he loved Lily and understood her faults. And I told him that I couldn't understand why he could be with someone who caused the death of my brother. We never saw eye to eye on the situation."

Izar nodded. Before he could speak up to question Sirius' loyalties, the man interrupted him.

"If I had known, Izar, that she was pregnant with you, I would have searched for you. But when Regulus told me she had lied about ever being pregnant with you, I didn't think twice. When I saw you at Hogwarts last year, I knew that she had lied. I knew you were Regulus' son. There was no mistake." Sirius spread his hands out in a gesture of helpless surrender.

Cocking his head to the side, Izar eyed him warmly. "You had no way of knowing otherwise, Sirius. I do not fault you."

Across the table, Regulus gave Izar a pleased nod, offering a lipless smile at his son's choice of words.

A weight on Sirius' shoulders seemed to lift, almost if he blamed himself for Izar's orphanage issues and could only be relieved of it by Izar's acceptance.

Izar shifted in his chair before leaning forward and reaching out to lay his hand near Sirius' elbow. He had all eyes for his uncle despite Regulus' intense stare on the side of his face. "Sirius, I must ask you of your loyalties. Are you truly going to fight against Regulus and I when it comes down to it?"

Sirius reared away from him just as Regulus scolded him harshly. "_Izar,_" the man's charcoal eyes gleamed at Izar, furious.

Izar straightened, not at all taken aback by his father's actions. He had seen glimpses of this darker side of Regulus throughout the summer. Izar almost found himself salivating over the prospect of watching Regulus in battle. It would be…delicious.

"Oh father," Izar drawled. "We had almost four months of remaining silent on this topic. Quite frankly, I find myself tired of side-stepping this conversation." The young Black heir then turned to Sirius. "Are you on the Light side, Sirius, or will you allow the Dark Lord and I to court you to the Dark?"

Sirius' tight wavy hair shook as he rolled his head to the side in an uncomfortable manner. "I am not a Dark wizard, Izar," the man rasped out.

"You're a _Black_," Izar pronounced slowly, his eyes hooded as a lazy smirk settled across his lips. "Every Black has submitted to the seductive call of the Dark."

Regulus stood up, casting a warning stare at Izar. "I believe this conversation is finished. He has stated his side. There will be no more talk of this."

Izar sat back against his chair, grinning lightly as he met his father's stare head on. Briefly, he wondered if Regulus just didn't want to hear that his older brother was on the opposite side of the battlefield. Izar had watched the brothers' interaction throughout the summer. While they had gotten closer, there was still a noticeable drift—a tension that was tangible. Izar believed that the conversation today would lessen that tension, but there was still the fact that they were on opposite sides.

Izar's eyes slit as he surveyed his unwavering father. "I'm going to start packing," he declared.

He stood from his chair and slowly left the dinning room.

{**Death of Today**}

"…I was raised to worship the Dark," the voice was muffled behind the door.

Regulus stealthily approached Izar's half-opened door, peering inside. He surveyed the scene, smiling grimly as he watched Sirius push down Izar's clothes in the trunk. His son was sitting calmly on the side of the bed, watching Sirius closely.

"And because of that you wanted to rebel? You wanted to show your parents you were your own person?" Izar inquired softly.

The hairs on Regulus' neck stood at his son's tone. It was difficult to come to terms that this young man in front of him was the same boy he had met last year. Last year, Izar had been a young child who struggled to remain self-assured despite his young age and insecurity. Through the summer, that uncertain young boy had transformed into a confident young man. Izar was only sixteen, yet he had the posture and the eyes of someone far older.

Ever since the incident with the Dementors, Izar had also become… a bit darker. Regulus hated to admit it, but his son was starting to adapt some of the Dark Lord's characteristics. There was an arrogant, confident, manipulative, and sinister air about Izar. Many men tried to imitate and mimic powerful figures such as Dark Lords. They spent years masking their emotions and mastering their actions in order to appear similar to their idol. They never succeed. Only, Izar seemed to have succeeded without really trying.

His son was also a lot calmer than before. And while there was a darker mood about him, Izar was also able to smile and laugh more than he had before. But Regulus knew it had something to do with Izar's acceptance with his family.

It was a positive change, but it also worried Regulus at how much Izar was reflecting the Dark Lord. Even if he didn't feel threatened around Izar, he would still get a few goose bumps in the boy's presence at times. Moreover, Regulus found himself noticing Izar's aura. The boy's aura was cool and it would always chill him pleasantly. While Regulus wasn't magic-sensitive like Izar, he, like many other wizards, _were_ able to feel a tickle of aura coming from powerful Lords.

There were numerous of changes Izar had gone through this summer. Not only did his persona change, but he grew physically.

Regulus' mouth twitched. Izar was almost eye-level with him. It had been surprising to witness Izar's growth spurt, only because Regulus hadn't gone through his spurt until his late teens and Lily was very compact. Nonetheless, the boy had been thrilled with the change. Perhaps that was one of the factors that gave Izar a renowned confidence?

Regulus had to admit that his son was… stunning. Instead of moving awkwardly and uncoordinated like most teens did when they found themselves with extra limb growth, Izar was a lot more flowing, a lot more graceful. Height suited Izar far more than a petite body stature.

His son was a young man now. It was strange for Regulus to come to terms with that. He had just found his son; he didn't want to let the boy fly solo already. Even so, Regulus was content that he had a chance to grow closer to his son this summer. Izar had opened up about his orphanage experience; he had _trusted _Regulus enough to help him overcome his memories.

Was it selfish of Regulus to want to keep a tight clutch on Izar and hold him close forever?

In the room, Sirius bowed his head, a light smile playing his features. "You got it in one," he admitted.

Izar looked slyly up at Regulus. The latter stayed rooted in position, not turning to leave like an idiot. It was to be expected that his son would sense his presence.

With a cool nod, Izar turned away and continued to watch as Sirius fidgeted with his clothes. Regulus' lips thinned at his son. The boy was too smart for his good. Even if he wouldn't admit it, Izar was more than aware that Regulus wanted to hear the reasons for Sirius' decision to turn Light.

"I would have thought the strive to be your own person would fall on to the younger children, not the firstborn." Izar straightened the cuffs on his shirt. "In my mind, Regulus would have been the more likely candidate to want to turn Light." The boy gave a slight grimace at that. Regulus had to smile.

Sirius nodded slightly. "Regulus and I were only a year apart, Izar. I don't think it had anything to do with sibling rivalry and the thirst to prove each other as different beings. I believe that I was just born differently than the other Blacks. I'm a Light soul, I feel comforted and pure when I use Light magic. When my parents tried to push the Dark Arts on me, I couldn't handle it. I escaped to Hogwarts and immediately befriended James Potter."

Izar gave a light scoff. "Potters are the model wizards of the Light."

"They are," Sirius agreed. "That's why I sought James. I didn't expect to like him at first, but I was wrong. We formed a very close bond; a bond I believed was stronger than the one I shared with Regulus."

"A bond you _thought _was stronger?" Izar questioned. "You and Regulus were two different people growing up, opposites in fact. Don't you think you can admit that the bond you shared with James was stronger than the one you had with your younger brother?"

Regulus placed a hand on the wall next to him, leaning closer to the door. It didn't hurt to hear that, only because he had felt the same. He still did. Severus… Severus was a man who Regulus would do almost anything for. He had thought the same for Severus as Sirius had felt for James, perhaps with even more intensity.

Sirius gave a quick shrug. "I hated my parents most the time, but Regulus was my brother. He was family. I had a bond with him that I could never share with James."

Izar looked down at the quilt on his bed, caressing the fabric in a pensive manner. "So your friendship with James Potter pushed you further along into the Light side?"

Sirius issued a bark-like laugh. "You have no idea," he murmured fondly. "I lived with his family for the better part of my teen years. They had a lot of influence on me. James is a good person, Izar. Far more mature than I could ever hope to be, but he got in over his head with Lily."

Regulus sneered at the same time as Izar gave a quiet chuckle. "Yes, she seems to be a common factor among many downfalls of decent wizards," he mused, giving a pointed look in the direction of Regulus.

His son said it more for Regulus' benefit than Sirius'. Regulus clenched his right hand, knowing what he did sixteen years ago had been one of his biggest mistakes. Not only had he lost himself, but he destroyed Izar's childhood and he also betrayed and destroyed Severus.

A cool and seductive tendril of magic suddenly hit Regulus' vulnerable face. He looked up and watched as Izar stood from the bed. The boy had a serene expression on his face as he approached his uncle. Regulus stiffened, feeling his pulse heighten at his son's predatory-like actions.

"Have you ever tried to accept the Dark, Sirius? And not fight it?" Izar murmured softly. The boy had a light smile on his lips as he came to a stop next to a stiffened Sirius. He leaned close to his uncle, his eyes visible even from across the room. "The Dark is not always about death and suffering, you know. It's a very erotic branch of magic. It can protect you just as strongly as the Light, it only makes you feel…invincible."

A sharp tug in his groin made Regulus back up quickly, a crimson flush staining his cheeks. Self-hatred boiled his belly over his arousal. Clenching his jaw, Regulus breathed deeply in order to control himself. He would never lay a dirty hand on Izar, _never_. His son was trying to seduce Sirius over to the Dark side. It was understandable and not many wizards beside Lucius Malfoy and the Dark Lord could succeed as well as Izar. Regulus was always drawn to the Dark, to power, to beauty, and his son was all three combined.

But Regulus held nothing for Izar but a platonic fatherly love.

He couldn't say the same for his older brother, though. Sirius' eyes were dilated as he watched Izar closely. "You want your friend back, you want James back, it's to be expected. And it's entirely understandable," Izar continued quietly. He stepped closer to Sirius and Sirius angled his body as close as he could to Izar—a dazed look on his features.

Regulus' nails cut open the skin on his palms as he struggled not to storm inside. Sirius had better not lay a _hand _on Izar. This was too much. Izar was only a _child_.

But even as he thought this, the scene in front of him proved otherwise. The Dark Lord's interest in his son was also raw evidence of Izar's maturity. Did Voldemort know this side of Izar? Or did he breed it out from Izar throughout the course of last year? Or perhaps this was an outcome to the Dementor attack and the breaking of his mind?

"Lily is so far lost in Dumbledore's manipulations that she only sees the _greater good _and not the consequences of her actions," Izar offered a coy smirk. "If you embraced the Dark side, you would be able to make James see reason. You'd be able to take Lily out of the picture."

Sirius' face slowly began to clear. "I- I can't…"

Izar leaned forward, touching Sirius' arm before pulling away just as quickly. "But you can. James would never have to know it was you. In fact, you don't even have to raise your wand against her. There are many others who would be glad to rid her."

_Like me, _Regulus thought darkly.

"You would be back with James, the way it was meant to be."

For a long moment, Sirius struggled with himself. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed Izar by the biceps, pulling him close. Their noses almost touched and Sirius' eyes were scrunched as he eyed Izar critically.

Before Regulus could enter, Sirius pushed Izar on the bed and turned away. "Don't," Sirius murmured. "Don't do that to me, Izar." Sirius buried his head in his hands, rubbing his palms into his eyes. "You make me feel dirty, the Dark… it always makes me feel wrong."

Izar recovered and sat up calmly. "Perhaps it's not the Dark that's making you feel the way you are. Maybe that's who you truly are but you're struggling in vain to cover it up by being Light, by being someone who you are not."

He was pushing too much, Regulus noted. If he were Izar, he would have stopped as soon as Sirius pushed him away.

"There is nothing _wrong _to wanting power, Sirius. There isn't anything wrong with feeling the way you do."

"There is," Sirius retorted, turning back around to face Izar. "I fear the Dark, I can never accept it. Please, Izar, understand me when I say I am comfortable with the Light. I cannot succumb to the Dark because I know I would lose myself."

Regulus was surprised to see a spark of respect flash across Izar's eyes. The boy issued a soft smile, bowing his head in surrender. No matter how skilled Izar may or may not be, Regulus knew Sirius would never turn to the Dark. It was ingrained in his magic an in his spirit that he was Light.

"I can't fight against you, Izar," Sirius continued as he took another step closer to his nephew. "I don't want to fight for Dumbledore, but I don't want to fight for the Dark Lord. I don't believe in his views but I also don't believe in Dumbledore's control. Allow me to stay neutral in this war." Sirius reached out and cupped Izar's cheek.

Izar curled his hand around his uncle's wrist, holding it almost lovingly before giving a bitter smile. "I would like nothing more than for you to stay neutral, Sirius. But in the end battle, everyone must choose a side. Hopefully you'll find a way to sidestep that choice."

The two shared a smile and Regulus slowly backed away before ducking down the corridor.

His mind flashed back to the respect that shown behind Izar's eyes at Sirius' persistence to stay Light. He wondered on that for a long moment before understanding his son's feelings.

While Sirius admitted he feared the Dark, he _was_ strong enough to stand by his morals and refuse submission. Despite the Dark being one of the strongest branches of magic, it was also the most controlling and possessive. Those who practiced Dark Arts were all but slaves to its bidding. Even with the Dark whispering seductive promises in Sirius ears, his brother was strong enough to turn the other cheek.

There were times when Regulus wondered if the Light was the stronger side. He wondered if Izar thought the same.

Quickly, he pushed that thought away. The Light, while not as controlling as the Dark, was easy to harness. Many wizards could grasp the understanding of Light magic with simplicity. The Dark Arts, on the other hand, took an incredibly strong wizard to control. While most of the users became servants to the Dark, there were a selected few who were able to control it.

The Dark was, by far, more sophisticated and compelling than the Light.

Regulus walked through the corridors, his mind heavy with the burden of going back to Britain.

Izar said it was time to go back.

And Regulus found himself agreeing.

* * *

{**Notes**} I'm still debating if I want to write from Voldemort's point-of-view again. There were some people who thought it ruined the 'mystery' of the Dark Lord. And I full heartedly agreed. It's impossible to put down Voldemort's mind in words. He's… twisted, dark, and complex. A very difficult character to write. I'd like for him to remain a mystery. I'm just curious what you all thought.

And no, there is not any future incest. Promise.

Thanks for the reviews ;) I didn't get a chance to respond to them. School is reaching a climax so things will start to get a bit busier in the next month.


	34. Part II Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Come on, _Black_," one of the Death Eaters spat. "You're coming with us. Our Lord is expecting you."

Izar paused in his retreat from the shop, eyeing the group of Death Eaters surrounding Regulus and him. "I know," Izar replied vigilantly.

He studied the seven Death Eaters who had their wands pointed in his direction. They were currently standing in a dark and dingy pathway of Knockturn Alley. Earlier this morning, Regulus had dragged Izar down to Diagon Alley a few hours after they returned to Britain to get new clothing for his growing body. Sirius opted to stay at Grimmauld Place, staying the weekend before he had to go back to work on Monday.

Regulus and Izar had just finished seeing the tailor when they stumbled into… _this. _

"You _know_?" a second Death Eater sneered. "And yet you still dare to keep the Dark Lord crawling after your hide? You foolish, _arrogant_ child. Perhaps the Dark Lord will allow us to play with you before he gets his own fill."

Izar curled a hand on Regulus' arm to stop the man from drawing his wand. He calmly turned a smile on to the group of Death Eaters. "I apologize," Izar murmured softly. "I should have explained myself better. You see, I've just recently met with the Dark Lord. We've already discussed the issues of my absence."

Izar was a bit insulted that the Dark Lord would send Third Tier Death Eaters after him. Their nickel masks blended in with the dark hoods they had drawn, veiling their features. Even from their visible auras, Izar couldn't put a finger on their identities, but decided they weren't rookies or new to the ranks.

If Voldemort wanted to talk to Izar, the man would _come _to him personally.

Five of the Death Eaters hesitated before lowering their wands. The other two kept their aim true on Izar's face.

"If that were the case," one of the bigger Death Eaters began suspiciously. "You wouldn't be able to walk in a straight line."

Izar's eyebrows shot up. "Is that so?" His lips thinned as he eyed the man in front of him. "Not that it's any of your business what transpired between the Dark Lord and I, but I already ingested a muscle relaxer to ease the affects of the Cruciatus Curse."

Sniffing, he looked down at his bag of clothes. The Death Eaters tensed at the action, holding their wands up higher. Charcoal-green eyes barely spared them a glance as he inspected only a few of the tailored shirts he purchased. The robes and cloaks would be arriving separately, through post.

Issuing an irritated sigh, Izar lifted his chin before raising his palms upward in mocking surrender. "By all means, you can take me to the Dark Lord but not only will you be wasting _my _time, but you'll also be wasting the Dark Lord's valuable time. I wouldn't want to be the one to interrupt our Lord from his work to attend to a meeting he's already had the pleasure of having."

The remaining two Death Eaters blanched before lowering their wands. Apparently, the thought of disrupting Voldemort and his temper was sour enough to vanish their suspicions. "Fine," the large wizard motioned out the alleyway with his hand. "Then leave."

Izar raised a fine eyebrow and smirked. "Leave? As far as I'm aware, Knockturn is a public residence." The Black heir took a step closer to the 'leader' of the group and looked down his nose at him. "And you," Izar purred softly. "Have no right to order me around."

The man's dark eyes gazed out through the mask holes, narrowing on Izar.

"Come on, he's not worth it," one of the others insisted as he pulled on the leader's arm.

With one last warning stare from the leader, the man turned his back on the Black heir. Izar watched the group disapparate through lidded eyes. Did they honestly think they could order _him _around? He was in the Second Tier, higher up in hierocracy than them.

Breathing through his nose to calm himself, Izar turned to survey Regulus. The man looked less than impressed. "What?" Izar demanded. "You do not approve of my methods?"

Regulus reached out a hand and curled it around Izar's bicep, pulling him close. His father studied him with melancholy charcoal eyes. "You said you were ready to face _him_," Regulus murmured. Issuing a growl, Regulus held onto Izar tighter as the younger tried to pull away. "It is unwise to anger the Dark Lord anymore than he already is, Izar. When he finds out you have manipulated his followers into believing you've already met with him, he'll hunt you down himself."

"And that's what I _want_," Izar retorted listlessly. He looked around the alleyway, noticing that the occupants of Knockturn were too far away both in mind and physically to overhear. "I'm his political heir," Izar pointed out softly, turning back to Regulus. He held up his fingerless glove that hid the Celtic band. "The least he can do is show me a bit of equality…" he paused, knowing that 'equality' wasn't exactly the best word to use in front of his father.

Regulus' eyes widened before they narrowed. He stepped closer to Izar, his breath hot across his face. "That is a very foolish thing to say. Every Death Eater holds that wish, that dream to become somewhat of an equal to the Dark Lord. They all believe they deserve the Dark Lord's attention. Do not assume the Dark Lord would ever consider something as such. When you start to believe that, you do foolish things to get his attention."

"I _do not,_" Izar hissed. "I'm not like the other Death Eaters, father." Despite his anger, he was pleased that Regulus saw the Dark Lord for what he really was. Voldemort was a puppet master and enjoyed playing with his followers. He _enjoyed _watching them as they struggled to get his attention.

His father shook his head, giving a bitter smirk. "You are Tom Riddle's political heir, Izar. Tom Riddle is not the same person as Lord Voldemort. You must pretend you have no ties to the Dark Lord."

Izar closed his eyes to calm himself. The ring on Izar's finger bound him to Lord Voldemort sexually while it also bound him to Tom Riddle politically. His father didn't know the former use for the ring and it would need to stay that way.

He offered a small grin. "You're right. It was foolish of me to anger the Dark Lord more than necessary."

_But _so _pleasing. _

Regulus' eyes ran across Izar's face. The man must have seen something there, for he nodded and pulled him along the shady paths of Knockturn. "Come now, Sirius asked me to pick up some materials for him…"

As they entered Diagon Alley, Izar's altered Mark stirred fiercely.

Pulling up his hood, Izar smirked gleefully.

It would appear as if the Dark Lord had just found out that Izar had slipped through his grasp once again.

{**Death of Today**}

Standing poised in front of his window, Izar clasped his hands behind his back as he surveyed the three figures outside the wards of 12 Grimmauld Place. Clothed in black pants and a black button-down shirt, Izar was a picture of dark sophistication and sinister elegance. A light smirk played his lips as he felt the Black wards buckle dangerously before whining back into place.

The Dark Lord was here. This time, he was here _personally _and with two members of his Inner Circle; Bellatrix and Lucius. It was far more acceptable than being captured and dragged to the Dark Lord by Third Tier servants. Was he being unfair? Yes. Was he overstepping his boundaries by deliberately making the Dark Lord crawl to him? Oh yes. Did he enjoy every moment of it despite the pain that may be inflicting him shortly?

"Yes," Izar murmured pleasantly as he watched Regulus exit the front entrance of their home and stride toward the edge of the wards. If there was one thing Regulus didn't want, it would be Voldemort to shred the Black wards that had been in place for centuries. And Voldemort _could_ accomplish that feat in his anger. Izar had to struggle not to roll his eyes back in pleasure from the man's aura. It had been long—almost too long.

He observed as Regulus exchanged a few short words with the Dark Lord before flinging his wand out and adjusting the wards to allow the three figures entrance. As soon as the wards were down, Regulus went to his knees in submission.

Izar's lips thinned and he reminded himself that he needed to do the same. Unfortunately.

Slowly backing away from the window, he made his way through the dingy halls of the Black home. Izar had been at Grimmauld for a total of five hours, not enough time to study the interior of the Black home. From what Regulus mentioned, the basement was an important part of the Black history. The two had planned to retreat downstairs and discuss the ancestors of the Black family and Cygnus in particular.

Through the course of the summer, Regulus had kept quiet about Cygnus Black and the Curse. Izar hadn't pestered about it at the time; he had other things on his mind such as dueling and imperative inventions. And Izar never mentioned to Regulus what Lily Potter had said about Cygnus' Curse. He assumed it would come up eventually, but there hadn't been any time convenient enough.

The cloaked-like apparition that haunted Izar had appeared only a few times in the past four months. It always kept its distance, never reaching out to touch Izar like it had during the school year. Izar ignored it entirely and buried the situation in the back of his mind. Maybe not his most intelligent idea, but it got him through the summer in one piece.

He hurriedly climbed down the stairs and into one of the parlors that would permit him to approach the guests from the back. Just as he melted into the shadows, the front door opened. Curling his fingers around the parlor door, he watched the group enter Grimmauld. He wanted to prepare himself with the sight of Voldemort before the man saw _him_. It was a small victory, but it settled Izar's nerves considerably.

Izar was pleased with his growth spurt over the summer, but when he laid eyes on Voldemort, the man seemed taller than Izar had imagined. How was that possible? No matter how tall Izar grew, it would appear as if Voldemort would always tower over him. The man's slender form was cloaked heavily with a worn-black robe. Riddle was more than a head taller than Lucius Malfoy, who happened to be a few inches taller than Izar.

Voldemort suddenly turned and peered down the dark corridor Izar hid. The Black heir ducked back into the parlor, sneering at the far wall. He thought he was _ready _for this. He told himself over and over again that he was perfectly composed to face Voldemort again. Compared to the last confrontation he shared with Riddle on top of Hogwarts' tower, Izar was a lot more stable.

Then why was his pulse racing? Why were his palms clammy?

He closed his eyes, gathering a sense of serenity before pushing off the wall. Lifting his chin, he slowly exited the dark parlor and entered the equally dim corridor. Voldemort had turned away from Izar but his posture told the Black heir that he was consciously aware of his presence.

"_Black,_" Bellatrix spat in fury.

At first, Izar wondered if she was speaking to him, but her back was facing his approaching figure. Her crooked wand was pointed at Sirius as the man cautiously stepped down the rickety stairs. Sirius' expression was grim and wary as he eyed the trio of Dark wizards before him. Regulus made a motion to retreat back up the stairs but Sirius seemed to be frozen in place with stubbornness and Auror instincts to attack.

Bellatrix, her mind likely still fresh with her cousin's exposed arse and manhood, brought back her arm. She was going to attack Sirius and no one would stop her. Regulus remained stiff next to her, resigned that he was lower in ranking and could do nothing. Voldemort wouldn't care and Lucius' dislike for Regulus no doubt mirrored in Sirius. Izar, on the other hand, wouldn't stand for Sirius' unarmed form to be taken advantage of.

"_Crucio_," Bellatrix whispered in glee.

Before it could leave her wand fully, Izar took her by the collar and slammed her against the wall. She gave a startled gasp, the Unforgivable hitting the floor next to Izar's feet. His forearms flexed as he lifted her further up the wall. Her dark eyes were wide before they sparkled in pleasure when she recognized Izar.

"He's under _my _protection. You will not harm him in _my _home," he hissed softly in her face.

Breathing deeply, he released her and she scrambled to regain her dignity but not before offering a mocking pout. Charcoal-green eyes then meet Sirius' surprisingly closed-off expression. The man was standing calmly on the staircase, his hand resting on the railing next to him. His gaze was unwavering on Izar's form.

"Everything is fine, Sirius," Izar found himself reassuring.

Sirius' mouth thinned into a frown before he finally tore his gaze away from Izar and quickly assessed the others, the Dark Lord in particular. The man then gave a tense nod and retreated back up the stairs without another word.

Now that his distraction was gone, Izar could no longer put off his curiosity. He slowly turned to the Dark Lord, only to have a cold hand wrap around his throat. Izar spluttered before he was lifted cleanly off the ground by a restricting hand. His feet dangled but he didn't struggle and kick. Instead, he curled his fingers around the cold wrist, meeting the split-crimson eyes straight on. Voldemort's face was just as impassive as Sirius' had once been. There was a flicker of interest as the man ran his eyes down the length of Izar's body before that spark cooled into a menacing ice chunk.

"My wayward child," the man crooned, sending goose bumps across Izar's lower back.

Izar blinked heavily, trying not to show his struggle. He could barely breathe and his throat began to burn with the force Voldemort was putting on it. Next to the Dark Lord, Bellatrix cackled excitingly. Izar refused to look at her and continued to gaze coolly at the Dark Lord. Suddenly, the hand opened and Izar dropped to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Dust from the floor stirred in visible clouds around him and he resisted the urge to sneeze.

"Follow me," Voldemort ordered abruptly, waving off the others as they tried to follow him. "Only the boy."

Flashing a quick look at Regulus, Izar stood up and walked gracefully after Voldemort. After they crossed the threshold of the drawing room, the door slammed shut behind them, enclosing the two in privacy. It was the first time in months since Izar was alone with Riddle. Quite frankly, he didn't feel as confident as he thought he'd be. With others, Izar felt superior and easily dominant, but with Voldemort, he knew there would always be a power struggle.

Currently, Riddle's magic was cold, freezing almost. It was frightening and it darkened the room with his mood.

Nonetheless, Izar stood tall and unaffected. He watched the Dark Lord as the man turned his heel and finally studied him. "On your knees," Voldemort ordered sharply. His hood was drawn, obscuring most his face as he looked down at Izar.

Clenching his jaw stubbornly, Izar fell to his knees. The positive to this situation was that the man wasn't doing this in front of the others. Granted, Riddle had already choked him and dropped him on the floor to show his dominance in front of the others, but at least Izar hadn't been forced to submit.

He bowed forward on the ground and was about to put his forehead on the floor in a standard bow before Voldemort's voice stopped him.

"No," the man started. "Stand on your knees."

There was a sick pleasure in the man's tone and Izar became instantly suspicious. Slowly, he straightened and stood on his knees, realizing his eyes were almost eye-level with Voldemort's groin. Izar narrowed his eyes and tried to stay as dignified as possible. _Sick bastard. _"I don't see why you're so angry," Izar began quietly.

"_Silence,_" Voldemort hissed.

Izar threw back his shoulders and glared at the black cloak in front of him. Anger coursed through his body, surprising even himself at the intensity. He thought he could face the Dark Lord calmly and unaffectedly, but it appeared as if he hadn't been as ready as he originally thought. His anger shouldn't have been present. It was understandable that he would be punished for altering the Dark Mark and also hiding for four months. Izar had known that, it was just difficult to accept it—accept the submission.

For a long while, Izar stayed on his knees. He legs were becoming numb as he continued to kneel and his pride was beginning to crack. No doubt Voldemort wanted Izar's pride to sting, so the Black heir tried his damnest to pretend he was anywhere but kneeling at his _Master's _feet.

"You've grown," the man stated after several minutes of silence.

Izar closed his eyes, seething.

Voldemort chuckled lightly and reached out to touch Izar's cheek. The Black heir reared back in order to avoid the touch, but he remained stubbornly on his knees. "I may have to kneel at your feet, but I _don't _have to let you touch me."

"You deserve a proper _Crucio_," the Dark Lord mused as he took a step back from Izar. "But I am feeling rather merciful today."

Izar bowed his head, black hair veiling his vision. "How fortunate," Izar quipped.

He didn't see or hear the hex coming before it was too late. He gave a loud groan as he fell to the ground, shuddering as the pain swept through his muscles and tendons. It was similar to the _Crucio_, but many times more diluted. Izar whimpered, holding in his screams to the best of his ability. As he trembled on the ground, he realized that Voldemort had never cast a _Crucio _on him despite the many times that Izar deserved it for his past actions.

The answer came to him almost immediately. The _Crucio _was a curse that was emotionally attached to the caster. It only worked if the caster wanted to cause pain to their victim, they needed to _mean _it and enjoy it. Voldemort may boast that he was merciful by not casting the _Crucio _on Izar, but Izar knew the truth behind Voldemort's lack of ability to cast the Cruciatus.

It was because Izar was the Dark Lord's mate. Even if Voldemort never gave any inclination that he was a creature, there had to be something inside the Dark Lord that protested against intentionally harming his mate. And while the human side of Riddle thought Izar deserved the pain, the _Crucio _wouldn't be efficient. So the man had to settle with another dark curse. That was why Voldemort brought him in _here _to punish him. He didn't want his followers seeing his lenient punishment on a boy who had defied him.

Izar didn't doubt that Voldemort _could _cast the Cruciatus on him. But the man needed to be enraged to do so.

Through the pain, Izar tipped back his head and gave a strained laugh. Voldemort swooped over him, and with a wave of his wand, he ended the curse. Izar's body shook with the after-affects but he continued to laugh up at the red-eyed gaze.

"You punished me for an altered Dark Mark, which, by the way, saved your hide in front of the Headmaster. And you also punished me for my absence—a four month healing period…" Izar's tongue was heavy, but he slowly gained control of it as he grinned up at the Dark Lord. "When do I get to punish you for completely betraying my trust?"

Voldemort leaned down, a frown marring his features. "If you'd like, I could give you an even larger punishment. You've escaped practically unscathed."

Izar narrowed his eyes at the hovering Dark Lord. "I'd like to see you do more," Izar challenged sharply.

A sharp nail reached out and traced Izar's jaw line. The man gave a low, amused hum, shaking his head. "Do not _tempt _me." The man then turned away, his aura turning even icier.

Izar sat up, glowering. "You're a right bastard," he hissed. "Why punish me for healing?"

Voldemort stood motionless near the Black tapestry, studying it in bored fascination. He had his back turned to Izar and continued to keep his attention turned as he began to speak. "I offered to assist you in healing your mind. While I may be possessive of your well-being, I could have accepted the fact that you wanted to heal on your own. I could not, however, accept your decision to leave Britain entirely for four months." Here, Voldemort's tone dripped frigidly. "I had no word on your location, nor your health. You left Britain in your anger only in spite of me. _That _is why I punished you."

Izar wouldn't deny it. He _had _left Britain secretly because he was angry with the Dark Lord. But also to heal without interruption, without the Dark Lord's reach.

Izar looked down on the parlor floor, realizing once again that his anger was unjust. Harboring such anger toward the Dark Lord was affecting his actions, making him appear immature, childish, and juvenile. Four months of absence from the man had cooled Izar's fury considerably, but he realized not all of his anger over the Triwizard Tournament was gone. And that anger he kept hold of was being directed at Voldemort.

The sooner he acted like an adult, the sooner Voldemort would treat him as such. And when Voldemort began to see him as an adult, situations like the Tournament wouldn't happen again.

Or so he assumed.

Izar smiled thinly. His anger seemed to cool with his insight and he gave a pleased nod. He _had _matured; he just had a few hurdles to cross before he was fully adult.

"You're right…" Izar conceded. "I was bitter over your decision to leave me unaware of _my _invention's purposes. After my suppressed memories began to break my mind, you were the center of my blame." Although Izar no longer directed his anger over the Tournament's outcome on Voldemort, his trust was still a bit damaged. It would take awhile for Izar to trust the Dark Lord again.

Voldemort turned to look at Izar intentionally. Izar met the cloaked gaze, his chin lifted in his usual stubbornness. "You may stand," the Dark Lord sounded pleased, almost as if Izar had passed a test of his.

Bracing his hands on the ground, Izar gradually stood. He gathered his cool confidence again and stood a few feet from Voldemort. The man continued to study the Black family tapestry, his attention directed toward the branch Izar and Regulus were located at.

"What will it take for you to trust me, child?" Voldemort murmured in question.

Izar blinked at the question, surprise flushing his stomach before he cleared away his expression. It wouldn't do to have Voldemort see such a vulnerable emotion on Izar's face. "I may never trust you," Izar admitted softly. "Because I know, no matter how close we may or may not grow, _you _will never trust me. If it is not a two-way link, I don't think I could ever place such trust in you."

Voldemort's head cocked slightly. "I have trusted you with many things already."

"With bindings," Izar shot back calmly. "You may have told me of sensitive topics, but you've enforced my silence through the Celtic band." The man was likely speaking of his lack of Horcruxes and the fact he was immortal because of his creature status. Each of those important secrets were being protected and bound through the ring Izar had on his left hand. It insured Izar's silence.

Voldemort's aura pulsated with a bit of dark humor. "Nonetheless, I did not need to share any of those sensitive matters with you. You are the only one who knows."

Izar nodded, though, Voldemort wouldn't see it. He glanced at the Black tapestry Voldemort seemed to take up his attention with before looking back at the tall figure of the Dark Lord. "Teach me Occlumency."

Voldemort finally turned, his expression veiled beneath his hood. Izar stood his ground, his hands clasped behind his back. "You've taken on students before," Izar continued. "Bellatrix was once your student and you taught her to duel; perhaps you even indulged her with some teachings of the Dark Arts. You asked me what it would take for me to trust you. Teaching me Occlumency is a large step in that direction."

The Dark Lord issued a hissing laugh. "Dueling is far different than what you ask of me, child. Occlumency forms a mental bond between student and mentor. For you to truly succeed in learning Occlumency, you must place your confidence in me. Allowing me into the deepest recesses of your mind requires _trust_. You have already stated that you do not trust me."

Izar was prepared for that. He had accepted as much this summer when he attempted to learn Occlumency but failed considerably. "I tried to self-educate myself in the ways of Occlumency. Obliviously, it didn't work. The only other Occlumens I know of is Severus Snape. But he's teaching at Hogwarts."

Much to Izar's surprise, Voldemort shook his head once again. "No, I cannot teach you."

Veiling his shock and disappointment, Izar blinked across at the Dark Lord. "May I ask why?"

Voldemort took a predatorily step forward, his movements almost liquid-like. "Many reasons, Izar. I told you several times that I enjoy mind-rape. I do not know _how _to enter the mind gently. If I instruct you, it will be torture for you. I also know that you will never trust me enough to absorb my teachings. At any rate, I intended to teach you more of the Dark Arts this year. Consider that my teachings."

Izar clenched his left hand, hearing the leather of his glove groan at the action. "I need to learn Occlumency, My Lord."

"Stubborn," Voldemort tsked before reaching out a spidery hand and reaching it toward Izar.

Suddenly, a piercing pain erupted behind Izar's eyes and his head seemed to expand abnormally. He gave a muffled cry, squeezing his eyes shut against the memory.

_A young Izar stood motionlessly in the rain, clutching the lifeless bird in his hand. His nails imbedded in the soft feathers, piercing through the flesh. Crimson blood trickled down his pale arm before the trail washed away in the rain. _

Izar was relieved of the pain. He straightened up quickly, his mind heavy with the darkness of Voldemort's lasting presence. "It wasn't so bad," Izar lied. A moment later, his lie was seen through when his nose began to bleed. Angrily, he wiped at the thick liquid.

Voldemort was inches from him, reaching out to cradle Izar's cheek possessively. "Why do you wish to learn Occlumency? Is there something you must hide from me?" It was a teasing tone, but Izar took it to heart.

Charcoal-green eyes flashed. "Do you think I would ask you to instruct me if that were the case, My Lord?" He turned away from the hand, wiping away the blood that trickled down his nose. "There is… an invention I drafted up over the summer. I believe it's a way to destroy a few key members of the Light side. I don't want Dumbledore seeing it in my mind."

Voldemort reached up and lowered his hood, finally revealing his unkempt black hair and devilish features. Currently, his eyebrows were raised. "And what invention would that be?"

For a moment, Izar hesitated. He wondered if Voldemort would think he stepped over his boundaries with the invention he drafted up. The man could think of it as a breach of his privacy, but Izar hadn't been able to help himself when it came to mind. "A… Horcrux."

Crimson eyes darkened and the man took another step closer to Izar. The Dark Lord's cloak brushed against Izar and the younger wizard felt a shiver run up his spine from the barely contact.

Voldemort's lips twitched upward as if he sensed Izar's complete awareness of him. "What do you mean, child?"

They were so close, but they weren't touching. Izar wondered why he felt the pull to the taller man, why he felt the need to reach out and touch Voldemort.

Throwing the erotic temptations in the back of his mind, Izar focused on the task at hand. "You want Dumbledore to believe you have Horcruxes in order to draw him away from the fact that you are of creature status. What better way to lead him along than by creating an artifact that he believes to be a Horcrux? Or several Horcruxes? Hide them where they would connect to your past and make him seek them."

Voldemort's hand tightened at his side as if the man were controlling himself from reaching out to Izar.

"I've been working on the drafting process of a Horcrux," Izar continued quietly. "It has a few things I need to straighten out, but the outcome of the invention has remained the same ever since I've come up with the idea."

The expression on Riddle's face was unreadable, almost menacing. If Izar hadn't been able to feel the dark excitement coming from Voldemort's aura, he might have thought the man was against Izar's invention. "And what outcome is that?" Voldemort breathed forebodingly. "Tell me."

Izar hadn't planned to tell Voldemort anything about the invention. It would seem as if his expectations of this confrontation with Voldemort had turned on its head. Completely. Everything he had planned had fallen through his fingers. He had underestimated the man's enthrall. "Not that you deserve any of my inventions after what happened to the last, but I hope to come up with a way to manipulate the invention to cause demise. Whoever seeks the invention to destroy it will end up dead. It will be difficult to construct. And the Dark magic I will need to put into it will be overwhelming, but—"

He paused when Voldemort turned his shoulder on him, successfully cutting off conversation.

"I have missed you, child," Voldemort admitted huskily. "I must confess that you have been a constant in my mind during your absence."

Izar's eyebrows heightened and a smug smirk settled across his lips. "That's because you insist of surrounding yourself around incompetents, My Lord. I too, would miss anyone with a shred of intelligence if I surrounded myself with the same lot you seem to favor."

The Dark Lord turned predatorily toward Izar, a thin smile stretching across his lips. The white hand reached out and grabbed a hold of Izar's shirt, pulling him flush against his thin chest. Izar's ears burned with the closeness. The long finger that stroked down his cheek harbored just as much domineering verve as the hand holding his shirt captive. His belly could feel the heat coming off from Voldemort's groin—it was almost his undoing.

"I look forward to seeing that invention," Voldemort murmured, pleased. He leaned down, hunting for his prize before Izar pushed him away.

"Oh no, My Lord," Izar purred darkly. He laid his hands on Voldemort's chest, pushing him away little by little. He may have brushed off the man's advance as if it was nothing, but his pulse was racing with the thought of kissing the man once again. He wouldn't. He _couldn't _submit that easily. "You must teach me Occlumency before I even _begin _constructing it. I think it's a fair trade, no?"

He didn't just want to learn Occlumency to protect the information of his inventions, but he always wanted it for personal gain. Occlumency was something Izar had struggled with for many years. It was a talent he always wished to possess.

Crimson eyes widened before narrowing in dark satisfaction. Nails reached out and scraped down Izar's cheek in a painful claiming. Izar withheld his immediate reaction to the painful sensation of his skin ripping open. "You dare deny me a _kiss _after four months of absence, child?"

Izar's wrists were taken from Voldemort's chest before he found himself slammed up against the Black tapestry. Voldemort's knee separated Izar's legs forcibly and the lithe frame of the Dark Lord pushed itself between Izar's hips. "I find the result of your reconstruction of your mind to be both pleasing and infuriating."

The younger found it in himself to offer a smirk despite the controlling way Voldemort was pushing him into the wall. "As long as you find it infuriating then I know I did something right."

"Cheeky." Voldemort didn't smile, yet his magic peaked in humor before darkening. "You wish to learn Occlumency from me, then so be it." The finger on Izar's cheek embedded lightly into one of the wounds the man inflicted moments ago. Ignoring Izar's breathless inhale, Voldemort crooned. "Just know there are many things that will be changing once you become my student."

It was a whispered promise and Izar found the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention.

Before he had a chance to respond, he felt the atmosphere turn chilly just before the house elf popped in the room.

Something was not right…

"Master Izar," Kreacher rasped in a short bow. "Master Regulus is being hurt. You asked me to inform you if there ever comes a time…"

"Bellatrix," Izar hissed darkly. He somehow managed to pull himself away from the hold of Voldemort and toward the door to the drawing room. If Bellatrix so much as harmed Regulus…

Just as soon as his hand curled around the door handle, Voldemort reached out and grabbed a hold of Izar's arm in a tight grip. Izar turned, a nasty retort on his tongue until he saw the sinister expression in the man's eyes. "We are not finished with this discussion just yet. It _will _be continued at a later date."

Izar realized the man's hand was enclosed over the altered Dark Mark. Voldemort was applying a significant amount of pressure on it before reluctantly dropping his hold.

With a sharp nod, Izar opened the door and stepped out, Voldemort at his back. Before he escaped to the parlor where he could feel Regulus' pained aura, he paused. Slowly, he turned to look at Riddle with a mischievous grin. "I thought you'd enjoy her," Izar mused innocently as he motioned toward the Dark Mark through the sleeve. "After all, I had you in mind when I altered her form. You two have many features in common."

A dangerous hiss followed at his heels.

"Insolent _brat._"

* * *

{**Notes**} Thanks so much for the reviews last chapter.

I had to split this chapter into two parts. It was getting far too long with too much information for my sanity. Next chapter, you'll get some interactions between Lucius/Bellatrix/Izar and of course more Tom/Izar. You'll find out more about what Voldemort has planned for this upcoming war.

Thanks for reading. ;)


	35. Part II Chapter 3

**{Notes} **Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews. I didn't get a chance to respond to all of them *sweat drop*, but just know I appreciate each one of them. Also, many people wanted to know the exact heights of Izar and Voldemort. Izar is around 5 ft. 10 in. and Voldemort is around 6 ft 6 in.

Oh, and just a reminder to those of you who aren't enjoying the direction of the story- I am not _forcing _you to read.

Enjoy—my readers ;)

**Chapter Three**

Bellatrix was a complex woman. She was intelligent, observant, powerful and yet she was also deranged. There were times when Izar believed she had been dropped on the head as a child, but then he realized that many Blacks were similar to Bellatrix. They were twisted and too wrapped into the Dark to realize their actions just weren't _normal _by any standards.

But just like Sirius, Bellatrix was loyal to her family. Perhaps she viewed loyalty differently than others, but she protected her kin and also took pleasure in punishing them when she saw fit. She was also unwaveringly loyal to the Dark Lord. The same man who took her in as his protégé and taught her how to duel and twist the Dark Arts to her own needs. As far as Izar knew, Bellatrix was Voldemort's only student he took in.

He speculated if their relationship ever exceeded that of Master and servant, but immediately pushed that thought away. From what Izar had heard in passing, Voldemort didn't favor bringing his servants to bed. It would create a link between them that he didn't want to establish. It would make them believe they were something more to the Dark Lord than just servants. Voldemort enjoyed making his followers do crazy things for attention. He would never want them to think they _were _worthy of attention. He would only tease them.

Izar believed Bellatrix was Riddle's undeclared right-hand Death Eater. Despite the fact that there were a few Inner Circle members that Riddle grew up with at Hogwarts, Bellatrix somehow managed to become his right-hand before them.

Izar didn't know whether to feel jealous or determined to pass her in status. At the moment, he was a Second Tier Death Eater, a far cry from the Dark Lord's hand. He knew it was foolish to even _think _that just because he was Voldemort's mate that he should be higher in ranking than other Death Eaters. They had many years over him in servitude to Voldemort. Izar had to prove himself to the Death Eaters and to the Dark Lord that he could become a member of the Inner Circle through skill and not favoritism.

It would come. He just needed to be patient.

Dust rose in the air and around his feet as he walked quickly to the parlor. There weren't any screams coming from inside the room, but Izar wasn't fooled by the silencing charm. He could feel Regulus' agonized aura throb brightly. It almost choked him with the intensity.

Voldemort was following behind in a lazy saunter. The man most likely enjoyed the power struggles his Death Eaters partook in and didn't feel the need to interfere in the amusing spectacle. Izar clenched his jaw, knowing that the man held little regard for Regulus. If Voldemort didn't take such an interest to make Izar see him in a tolerable light, he was sure Regulus would have been killed already.

Izar reached out and wandlessly threw open the doors to the parlor. Lucius stood at his entrance, the wicked gleam in his eyes only brightening when they landed on him. Bellatrix stood over Regulus' suffering form, her mouth pursed with pleasure. Izar remembered being under Bellatrix's _Crucio_. It had been the most painful thing he had ever felt.

His father's screams tore at his mind and Izar threw out his arm, wand in hand, and magically pushed Bellatrix off her feet. She gave a grunt as she landed on her arse but she only got back up. Glowering, she pointed her wand at Izar who had stepped in front of his father in a protective manner.

"He deserves his punishment," Bellatrix heaved, her bosom expanding as she inhaled harshly. "Even _you _cannot interfere."

She threw a dark hex at him, likely meaning to push him away, but Izar quickly circled his wand above his head. The Black wards groaned forebodingly as they caught Bellatrix's hex and threw it back at her in the form of a vein of lightning. The air cracked loudly as the pink static-lightning missed her head by only a few inches. Izar snapped his teeth in a sneer and his wand remained poised and ready to use if she proved foolish to attack.

"Not in our home," Izar whispered sinisterly.

Her black eyes were wide as she stared at the scorch mark on the wall near her head. Black curls fell in her face as she quickly turned to the Dark Lord standing behind Izar. She looked as if she was going to argue, but Izar beat her to it.

"His fate lies in the Dark Lord's hands, not _yours_. And unless our Lord gave you permission to torture him as you see fit, I will not step aside." Izar stood tall as she continued to raise her wand.

Once again, she looked beyond Izar's shoulder at the Dark Lord. The Black heir didn't turn to see what the Dark Lord had done, but Bellatrix seethed at what she saw there, lowering both her wand and head in submission. In turn, Izar dropped his own wand and the Black wards spun away from his control at the action—plastering back on the walls and ceilings.

He then turned to Regulus, frowning as his father's body shook with the after-affects of the Cruciatus Curse. Why had his father simply allowed Bellatrix to torture him? He had the ability to manipulate the wards to his protection just as Izar had done, yet he hadn't raised his hand. Had Bellatrix taken him by surprise? Or was it some kind of sick pleasure to succumb to a higher ranking Death Eater? Or did Regulus think he deserved to be punishment?

Again, he was faced with the fact that Regulus was similar to Bellatrix in many ways. Regulus may have believed he deserved to be punished for his actions and had taken it submissively. Hopefully, if Regulus _hadn't _thought he deserved the punishment, he would be able to defend himself. Looking into the man's stubborn eyes, Izar was relieved to note that his father _could _take care of himself if he was in a right mind.

"I tried to tell Bellatrix that it would be unjust to torture your father," a voice spoke up. "It was not her hand he should suffer, but our Lord's."

Izar turned abruptly, observing Lucius through lowered lids. The man, like always, was a statue of cool and frozen elegance despite Bellatrix's dark glower. His cold grey eyes met Izar's in renowned interest. The man never hid his infatuation for Izar; in fact, his aura always seemed to hint that he was excited and aroused. Lucius was a man who wasn't shy about admiring _pretty _things, or so Izar was told.

"I'm sure you did just that, Mr. Malfoy," Izar remarked dryly.

Lucius stepped forward and Voldemort finally shifted deeper into the parlor after shutting the doors. "Call me Lucius," the blond corrected silkily. "I almost didn't recognize you, Izar, but of course you're eyes gave you away. I wouldn't have believed you could grow anymore striking, but you proved me wrong. And rightfully so." The man reached out a hand despite Regulus' warning growl.

Izar smiled thinly and took Lucius' hand. "You are as charming as ever, Lucius," Izar purred. His forefinger brushed across Lucius' pulse point, startling the man before the blonde's expression turned into that of pensive interest.

_Yes, Lucius, I'm not one to be played. _I _play _you.

Regulus finally struggled to his feet and stepped ungracefully between his son and Lucius with his weakened limbs. "Sick bastard," Regulus sneered quietly, almost too quietly for Izar too hear.

It was a bit touching that Regulus wanted to defend Izar, but really, the young Black heir was having just as much fun with Lucius as Lucius was having with him. Over Regulus' head, Izar noticed Lucius' quick glance at the wounds across his cheek.

He had almost forgotten about the scratches on his face and the man that gave them to him. The scratches seemed to burn at his awareness, reminding him that the man in question was in the room. Izar turned to catch the crimson eyes of Voldemort, quickly noting the man was not amused with his interactions with Lucius. Izar supposed healing the cuts on his face would only anger the man a tenfold.

"I beg your pardon, Black," Lucius murmured, appearing affronted. "I was merely complementing him. How he was able to turn out so accomplished considering his parentage is a feat in itself…"

Izar gave a thin sigh, clapping his hands once. Almost as if Kreacher had read his mind, the house-elf popped into the parlor, bowing down low as he balanced a platter of finger sandwiches and a kettle of hot tea. The house-elf set it down at the table in the center of the couch and armchairs.

"Please sit, My Lord," Izar invited, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Despite his tone, Voldemort sat down gracefully on the farthest armchair. Only after he settled did everyone else reluctantly sit. Lucius made a show of inspecting the couch before he sat down next to Bellatrix. His form was stiff as he eyed the mysterious hand sandwiches and the stained teacups. Izar had to admit, the sanitary in Grimmauld was less than satisfactory. In fact, they had a long way to go before the Black home could be passable.

Izar could only imagine what Draco's expression would be if he caught sight of Grimmauld Place.

Snobby pure-bloods.

"I made your favorite, Master Izar," Kreacher praised, happy with himself.

Izar's eyes widened a fraction when he eyed the moldy-green bread and the cheese that didn't smell very appetizing. "Thank you, Kreacher," Izar nodded sharply, not making any move to grab one of the offered… sandwiches.

Kreacher popped out of the parlor, leaving a heavy silence amongst the group.

"Pathetic," Lucius drawled, flashing an astonished look at Regulus. "All that gold in your vault and you cannot even provide our Lord with satisfactory food?"

Izar's lips trembled as he held in his laughter. He was sure Voldemort wouldn't care about finger sandwiches… Charcoal-green eyes flashed toward an impassive and bored-looking Dark Lord. The man's gaze turned from the green sandwiches to Izar's impish face.

"Grimmauld has been abandoned for almost twenty years, Lucius," Regulus started briskly. "Considering we have _just _arrived, I'm afraid we don't have a fresh batch of armadillos and albino peacocks ready to serve upon a diamond platter," Regulus retorted viciously, defending his birthright. Izar made a face at the mention of armadillos.

Voldemort waved a dismissive hand. "As much as I enjoy the flow of this conversation, I did not come here to discuss the benefits of culinary arts."

Izar scoffed, trying to hide his amusement all the while watching as Bellatrix reached over and helped herself to the offered food. Her face revealed nothing as she ate and Izar wondered if she got enough food at the Lestrange residence. That couldn't be healthy…

"My Lord," Lucius replied in reverence. "Please forgive me; I was only concerned with your well-being. Surely you don't want a decaying—" The blond tapered off after a stern stare from the Dark Lord.

"The war," Izar supplied lightly as the room lapsed into another tense silence. "Regulus and I have been keeping up with the _Daily Prophet_, but it doesn't mention the Death Eater's movement. Save for a few occasions." Here, Izar threw Voldemort a pointed stare, telling the man that _yes_ he knew about the orphanage and the hoaxed assassination attack. Voldemort held his stare, amused underneath his expressionless mask.

Lucius straightened, receiving a nod from Voldemort before beginning silkily. "There is nothing much to discuss, Mr. Black. We have been remaining inactive in the light of the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament. With our inactivity, the _Prophet _has been degrading Dumbledore's image. Meanwhile, Fudge still believes that the Death Eaters is a terrorist group. He will not accept that there is a rising Dark Lord."

"Typical," Izar mused. "And Undersecretary Riddle?" Izar looked over at Voldemort. "What is he saying about this _terrorist group_?"

"He's silent, following cautiously behind Minister Fudge, but not as vocal about his doubts that there is not a Dark Lord," Voldemort studied Izar through lowered lids. "He will make more of an appearance once Fudge steps down as Minister and Rufus Scrimgeour takes his place." Voldemort looked pleased with himself and Izar leaned forward, clasping his hands together in contemplation.

"Rufus Scrimgeour?" Izar furrowed his brows, his mind racing as he tried to put a history with the name. "The Head of the Auror department? You think he's going to become the next Minister?"

The term for the next Minister was due in the beginning of November, only a few days away. The wizarding world would vote for their new Minister and Izar wondered if Fudge would run for office a second term. And would Tom Riddle?

"_Ex _Auror," Regulus corrected gently. "He retired last year from the department and has been getting more heavily involved with politics. He has Dumbledore whispering in his ear about the Dark Lord's rise to power. And while Rufus claims he doesn't support Dumbledore, the man has been outspoken involving the terrorist group. Many people believe, because of his Auror skills, that he would make a reliable Minister— they believe he could protect them."

"He's also pro-Muggle," Izar considered. He looked down at the floor, debating on Voldemort's plan of action. Izar doubted the man would outright tell him what he was planning. Riddle always enjoyed making Izar find out for himself.

Suddenly, his mind warmed with a realization. He looked up at the dark form of Voldemort and gave a wicked smile. "You're going to make his life hell, aren't you?"

Voldemort lifted a hand to silence Lucius as the man was about to respond. He held up his left hand, the silver Celtic band on his finger visible—much to Izar's dislike. "What are you implying, Izar?"

Izar looked at Bellatrix, noticing the woman wasn't paying much attention. It would seem as if she didn't enjoy politics and was a woman of action instead. "If Tom Riddle isn't running for the position of Minister of Magic and he _wants _Scrimgeour to succeed, then I can only imagine you have plans for him." Voldemort cocked his head to the side, urging Izar to expand. "You want him to lull the wizarding world into a sense of calm…"

"Because of his position as ex-Auror, yes, the wizards and witches of Britain will likely see him as means to destroy this 'terrorist group' before the group begins to expand," Voldemort conceded.

Izar's smirk widened into a smile as he realized where this was going. "I assume Lord Voldemort is going to become a bigger problem for Britain once Rufus Scrimgeour is Minister? You'll make the wizarding world go into chaos and the citizens of Britain won't feel so secure with Scrimgeour when he fails to deliver. There will be doubt in his leadership. And meanwhile, like you stated earlier, Tom Riddle will make more of an appearance. I wonder…" Izar trailed off, pondering. "You will never reveal that Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort are the same, will you?"

Voldemort finally sat forward with a dark chuckle. "No, they will never be the same person to the public. As Undersecretary, I will _gradually_ put my word out into the public that, perhaps, we need to bend slightly to the Dark Lord's wishes and break ourselves from the Muggle world. There will be groups of wizards and witches who will be against my word, but the more Scrimgeour fails, the more the citizens will start to listen to Riddle's words."

Izar shook his head, marveling. "And when the wizarding world starts to sway to Undersecretary Riddle's reach, the less Lord Voldemort will attack the wizarding world. And when the people realize that they no longer have to live in fear of the Dark Lord, they will adapt to the new changes of the wizarding world." Izar summed up, feeling a bit pleased with the man's scheme.

"Very _good_, child," Voldemort purred. "I can see I will not have to prep you very much for our political runs."

Regulus shifted next to Izar, clearly still against Izar being the man's political heir.

Bellatrix finally looked up from her half-eaten sandwich. However, it wasn't her who posed the question. "Izar will be accompanying you on political runs, My Lord?" Lucius murmured in question, his eyebrows high in surprise.

Voldemort kept his eyes on Izar as a lipless smile crossed his mouth. "He's my political heir, Lucius."

Lucius looked at the silver Celtic band on Voldemort's finger and then to the fingerless glove Izar wore.

Before Lucius could ask when or how, Izar spoke up. "Do you think it wise to continue telling your followers that you are also Tom Riddle? I understand that you have a privacy ward in your Dark Mark to prevent the Death Eaters from speaking of you as the same person, but perhaps you and the Death Eaters should start courting wizards without informing them you are Tom Riddle."

Izar tried his best to appear innocent as he spoke of the Dark Mark. When he manipulated his Dark Mark, he had thought he transferred over Riddle's privacy ward from the old Mark and onto his new Mark. It hadn't worked. Somehow, Izar wasn't able to convert the privacy ward and he was able to speak about Riddle and Voldemort as the same man.

Voldemort gave him a pointed look at the mention of the Dark Mark, but nodded nevertheless. "You may be right. There are both benefits and downfalls in revealing my duel personas to my followers. However, I'm confident enough that my privacy ward will hold. There aren't many prodigies out there, hell bent on infuriating their Masters by stripping the Dark Mark of its privacy ward…"

The man trailed off and Izar looked down, hiding his grin.

"If I may ask, My Lord," Lucius murmured, oblivious to Voldemort's remark. "When will you announce that you have taken a political apprentice under your wing? I find myself very anxious to see Izar in the political scene."

A trembling hand landed on Izar's knee in almost a possessive manner. Turning, Izar noticed Regulus was sitting back against his chair, offering Lucius an unimpressed stare. Despite his body trembling from the after-affects of the Cruciatus Curse, Regulus was able to pull off an intimidating look. Times like these, Izar knew that Regulus thought he was nothing but a child in need of a father for defense.

Izar would let it slide. This time. It was best to humor Regulus and allow his father the chance to defend him. There may come a time where Izar had to deny Regulus that chance. Izar knew Regulus was emotionally upset about missing so much of his childhood and with the support Regulus had given him this summer, Izar would allow his father a chance at being a protective parental figure.

"I will likely inform the media after the new Minister is announced," Voldemort surveyed Izar. "And while the custody battle with Potter is just beginning."

Bellatrix made a disgusted noise in her throat. Izar assumed it was from the mere mention of the Mudblood and not from the moldy sandwich she just consumed.

He perked up at the change in topic, realizing that he had put Lily Potter in the back of his mind for the better part of his summer. However, even if he hadn't thought about her much, he _had _come up with a new solution to the whole custody battle. "Perhaps Regulus and I are going about the custody battle the wrong way," Izar began lightly. "We're using my independence as means to allow _me _to choose whom I live with. Why don't I file for emancipation? Regulus drops his bid for custody and allows me to go against _her_."

Lucius stroked his cane, musing. "Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore have many contacts in the Ministry—almost as much as our Lord. I know for a fact that the judge who has been assigned your case is sympathetic toward mothers and their children. Just because you have graduated from Hogwarts does not mean you are eligible for emancipation."

Izar leaned forward, his lips thinning irritably. "I'm _sixteen_, only a year away from being considered an adult."

Lucius shook his head gently, silently informing Izar that his age wasn't enough to file for emancipation. Izar then glanced at the Dark Lord, noticing that the man appeared disinterested. Well… the man would soon become _fascinated _with the topic as soon as Izar suggestion his next scheme.

He tried to withhold the growing smirk, but he was afraid he failed. His smirk caught Lucius' attention and Izar could feel his father's curious stare.

"If I file for emancipation at the last moment, Lily will have to change her tactics quickly—without prior warning. She'll have to go from targeting Regulus to targeting my lack of independence. Most minors who are granted emancipation do it through financial self-sufficiency or obtaining a degree from a wizarding school. I've graduated from Hogwarts with top marks and I have a job with the Unspeakables…"

Izar paused, trying to control himself from snickering darkly. Instead of submitting to his urges, he held up a third finger. "There is also one other way a court could grant a minor emancipation. Marriage."

A thick silence stretched across the parlor. It was more from Voldemort's slowly darkening aura than anything else.

Lucius raised his eyebrows while Regulus nodded next to him. "And…" Lucius began softly. "Who do you plan to marry?"

Bellatrix seemed to be just as interested in his answers as the others. She most likely wanted to be reassured that it was a respectable pure-blood and not a Half-blood or Mudblood. It was the only reason she was taking notice.

"Daphne Greengrass, of course."

Lucius cocked his head in agreement. "She is a very worthy candidate. And I believe that your request for emancipation will be accepted. Though, you must dance carefully with the judge. Muggle emancipation cases are less strict than wizarding cases. We believe our young should be well taken care of until they are seventeen. Even after years of debating, many still believe that seventeen is too young to be declared a legal adult."

Izar grimaced lightly at that. Seventeen years was more than enough time to establish independence. Though, he was different than most others his age. He had been looking after himself ever since he was a child.

Charcoal-green eyes slowly glanced at the Dark Lord. The man's aura was icy and his stare was even colder. Izar's stomach clenched in fear at the man's expression. It was entirely closed off but the crimson eyes seemed to burn as they stared him down.

"I believe we are finished here for the day," Voldemort hissed. He unfolded his tall frame from the chair and stood tall.

Bellatrix wasn't too far behind, looking relieved to be rid of their company. She seemed to despise sitting quietly and patiently. Her walk toward the door was quick and antsy, her aura just as flashy as her mannerisms.

Izar nodded sharply to Lucius as the man bid Regulus and him a farewell.

He didn't feel guilty over the marriage he was considering with Daphne. It was a good way to claim independence and to cover up his real _relationship _with the Dark Lord. She would benefit, Izar would benefit, and so would Voldemort.

But when Izar caught the last stare Voldemort gave him, he suddenly feared for Daphne's well-being.

No matter, Izar would _make _Voldemort see it his way.

{**Death of Today**}

"He was my great-grandfather and I was always deathly afraid of the stories I heard about him…"

Regulus trailed off, pushing aside a thick spider-web that hung from the low ceiling. Izar grimaced at the dark and dingy basement of Grimmauld, trying not to breathe too deeply. His sleeve covered his mouth and nose, hoping his lungs would remain intact with all the dust floating about.

"Cygnus was brilliant," Regulus continued. His charcoal eyes seemed to gleam in the light of his wand. "Very much like you. Only, he was crazy. He always encouraged his children and grandchildren to follow in his footsteps in terms of inventions and experimenting. He didn't support the Unspeakables, but he was the only wizard to approach the Veil at the time. He kept his findings to himself and the Unspeakables despised him for it."

Izar eyed the wood crates in front of him. They were stacked on top of one another against a grey stone wall. His attention then focused back on Regulus. He and his father had disappeared down to the basement a few moments after Voldemort had left. The man appeared mentally stable from Bellatrix's earlier _Crucio_, but his limbs were still trembling. The _Lumos _at the end of his wand shook—casting the basement in flickering shadows.

"After the Second Task," Izar started. "Lily claimed you didn't know anything about Cygnus' Curse."

Regulus' shoulders stiffened and he cast an almost shy glance at Izar before turning back to the crates in front of him. "I…"

Izar's eyes became hooded and his lips thinned from behind his sleeve. "She was right, wasn't she?"

His father shook his head, sending a few strands of hair into his face. "I don't know exactly what it is, no." Before Izar could retort, Regulus continued briskly. "I _do _know that Cygnus was obsessed with death. He was obsessed with the life in between living and the dead. He wanted a way to control it…"

Izar didn't like where this was going. He enjoyed the Dark Arts, but he didn't particularly care for what he assumed was the Cygnus' Curse. "Necromancy?"

Regulus tore open one of the crate's lids and peered down at the contents. "Yes," he responded distractedly. "Cygnus was rather jealous of the tales of the necromancers. Necromancers are born with the talent to raise the dead. There is no way to obtain the powers later in life if you weren't born with it. But Cygnus was determined, nonetheless. He…" Regulus grunted as he pulled out an object from the crate.

"He experimented with his sperm, with his DNA, anything he could extract from his body. Eventually, from what I've heard, he began to run out of time. He decided to go with a route he knew he would succeed at—genetics. Cygnus began to manipulate his sperm and hoped to pass down the necromancy gene. When his children didn't inherit the gene, he turned his sight on his grandchildren, hoping they would inherit the magic sensitivity, the sign of the gene's success."

Here, Regulus turned to look at Izar. "My father before me explained that Cygnus became more and more deranged the older he became. He used to escort his grandchildren before the Veil, hoping to see a sign of his gene succeeding. He never did… He passed away before I was born and obviously before you were born."

Izar leaned back on his heels, feeling something dark twist in his stomach. Something just didn't _fit. _

Regulus brought back his hand and brushed the dust off the object in his hands. Izar peered closer, realizing it was a portrait of a middle-aged man. The man had dark black hair with graying temples. His face was contorted into a deep grimace as Regulus brushed off the rest of the dust. Immediately, Izar noticed the dark eyes. They looked eerily similar to Bellatrix's.

"I assume I'm needed?" The portrait spoke with a raspy whisper.

The voice sent chills down Izar's spine. Where had he heard that voice before? Nonetheless, Izar remained collected as he peered uninterestedly at the portrait.

"Hello grandfather," Regulus offered a tight grin. "I'm here to introduce you to Izar, your second great-grandson."

The man's eyes squinted at Izar before a tight, almost cruel smile stretched across his lips. "No one would have woken me unless my experiment had succeeded."

Izar sneered as he was referred to as an 'experiment'. He didn't get much chance to retort, for Cygnus blinked at him admiringly.

"Leave me with the boy," Cygnus demanded of Regulus. The portrait must have noticed Regulus' indecision, for the black eyes turned back to Izar's father. "This is a confidential discussion between the boy and I. If he wishes for you to know, he will tell you at a later date."

Izar felt a bit bad for Regulus as the man gave a terse nod. Cygnus hadn't even asked Regulus who he was and what his name was. It was almost if the portrait was programmed to just speak privately to Izar about this _gift _he'd been presented with. Hopefully the portrait wouldn't pick up on Izar's reluctance to use necromancy.

Regulus handed Izar the portrait before squeezing his shoulder and disappearing back up the stairs.

With his lightened wand, Izar carefully set the portrait on top one of the taller crates and peered down at his ancestor. The man continued his assessment of Izar. "It took three generations for my work to succeed…" Cygnus finally began. "I must have missed a lot in the world."

Izar frowned at the arbitrary comment before crouching down to put himself eye-level with the dark eyes. "Regulus, my father, claims that I have inherited a… gift, from you," Izar spoke dryly. "He believes its necromancy. I, however, don't seem inclined to believe him."

Cygnus barked in laughter. It wasn't like Sirius' laugh, no, this was a bit crueler. "I find it amusing how much a story warps through time. While you do have the potential for a few gifts, necromancy is not what I was aiming for."

Furrowing his brows, Izar leaned a bit closer. "Regulus said you were obsessed with necromancy—"

"No," Cygnus seethed with an angry snort. "I was not interested in raising the dead."

Izar stood up slowly, his hair once again standing on his arms. Cautiously, he looked around the dark basement, holding his light high in order to see if he was being watched. A few black spiders scampered away from his wand-light, not inclined to be hit with brightness after many years of darkness. The dust in the air seemed to glitter in his line of sight, bringing a hint of beauty to such a gloomy atmosphere.

"I was interested in my _own _death," Cygnus continued, snapping Izar out of his musings. "Immortality."

Throwing his wand at the portrait, Izar narrowed his eyes darkly. "I make no sense of your logic, _portrait_. What do you mean by immortality when you are clearly dead?"

Cygnus raised his eyebrows at the wand pointed at his face before the man looked back up at Izar. "You are too _weak _to attempt it now, do not ruin this for me."

Izar grimaced, realizing that Regulus had been right to declare this man insane. No wonder why people believed the Black family to be a bit… deranged. Cygnus was a perfect example of this with his raspy whispers and sparkling black eyes.

Before Izar could inform the portrait that he would be used as firewood, a voice spoke behind him.

"I have grown much stronger since I've escaped the Veil. We don't have much time. The boy has made an agreement with a Dark Lord to learn Occlumency. If his mind strengthens, we will no longer be able to use the boy as a vessel." It was the same raspy whisper as Cygnus' portrait.

As Izar turned, he caught sight of the familiar cloaked-apparition. His wand automatically pointed at the figure that had been haunting him since last Christmas. Only, the apparition seemed considerably denser, less blurry.

The figure dropped its hood, revealing distinct features of the man who was in the portrait behind Izar.

Izar held his arm steady as he glared. "What do you mean by escaping the Veil?"

Cygnus' spirit cocked his head to the side, a cruel smile lighting his features. "The day at the Ministry, Izar." This Cygnus seemed a lot darker, saner than the portrait at Izar's back. "When you touched the Veil, you released me. I spent over fifty years in that archway, waiting for my experiment to come to me. You see, _you _are my living vessel. You carry the gene that will allow my spirit to merge completely with you. Only _you _were the one who could release me from the Veil…"

"You're bloody insane," Izar whispered, taking a step backward.

Cygnus straightened his head, studying Izar with pity. "And here you thought you were going to inherit necromancy talents. Oh, don't get me wrong," Cygnus held up a pale grey hand. "You do have a few unique gifts because of my experimenting, but it's a pity you will never use them consciously. You see, you'll become nonexistent once I merge with you. Your mind isn't strong enough to overthrow me. Your body was meant to be my next host… my way of immortality."

Izar dropped his wand, glowering. He knew any spell cast at the apparition would go right through. He wouldn't run, he wouldn't scream, he would face his threat head on. "You underestimate my mind."

Cygnus chuckled. "It _is _misfortunate that you had to be intelligent. You could have been of use to me." The spirit took a step closer, almost purring at the proximity of Izar.

The Black heir lifted his chin, his eyes all but glowing in determination, stubbornness.

Cygnus paused as he reached toward Izar, his expression twisting into one of mock regret. "For what it's worth, I _am _sorry it had to be you. As an inventor yourself, Izar, you must understand that nothing can stand in my way of completing this experiment."

The hot burning touch of Cygnus almost made Izar faint. But he sharpened his mind and tried to protect himself as best he could. But nothing could compare to the utter violation and pain that sparked across his mind and body as Cygnus lunged inside him.

He tipped back his head, issuing a silent scream as his veins smoldered and bulged.

"Izar?" a voice questioned uncertainly.

_Regulus…_

"_Izar?!" _


	36. Part II Chapter 4

**{Notes} Meh. **

**Chapter Four**

"Must you irritate me in my dreams as well, child? Sleep is the only means of escape from you, and yet, you have somehow ruined that much…" Voldemort hissed in exasperation.

Izar struggled to put his mind together long enough to understand where he was. This couldn't be real. It couldn't.

Through drowsy eyes, he noticed his feet were planted on nothing but stark whiteness. There was nothing but a bright glow as far as the eye could see, with the dark exception of Voldemort. The man was standing across from him, draped in his black hooded cloak. Split-crimson eyes narrowed on Izar, silently blaming him for his current predicament. For their current predicament.

How did Izar get here? Did his spirit unconsciously float toward the only one who could help him? It was all done subconsciously, he knew as such. Voldemort was in a deep meditation or slumber, if he were awake, Izar could have never reached him.

He believed the only reason he could reach Voldemort was because the Dark Lord already had an attachment—a link in his mind. Either that, or the ring on his finger formed a mental connection between the two.

Izar frowned when he realized that Voldemort may be his last hope of surviving. His stomach tightened in knots at the utter defeat of it all. "I need help," Izar admitted sourly.

Crimson eyes widened at his confession before they narrowed on him in disgust. It was almost if the man had predicted him to say as much, to admit as much. But how would that be possible? Did the Dark Lord know about Cygnus? Did the man help orchestrate this?

Of course he didn't.

Through the thick fog in his mind, Izar remembered Cygnus had jumped inside Izar earlier than planned, simply because Voldemort was going to teach him Occlumency. If Voldemort went through with teaching Izar earlier, his mental shields probably would have been strong enough to block out Cygnus' possession.

Voldemort had no idea that Cygnus' spirit now resided inside Izar, slowly eating away at his own spirit. And Izar had fought tooth and nail, but he had been conquered for that one battle. Izar wouldn't give up fighting, but apparently, he was unconscious at the moment, his spirit drawn to the one man who could aid him.

He opened his mouth, realizing that he sounded horribly pathetic, but Voldemort held up a hand, stopping him. "You always seem to get yourself into trouble. Why don't you learn to get yourself out of it?"

Izar blinked, frowning briefly before he glared heatedly. It was obvious that Voldemort didn't believe this… this connection to be real. Or was it simply a dream? No matter what it was, Izar wasn't going to take the man's accusation lightly.

His palms slid down his side until he settled them on his hips. "I always get myself into trouble? I don't think so," Izar seethed. "You are the one who puts a target on me, you careless, lazy, selfish bastard."

Slit-eyes watched him carefully, a light smirk growing across the man's lips. "Better," the man noted arrogantly. "Much better than the pitiful boy begging for help."

Izar tipped back his head in frustration and breathed deeply. He had to keep his jaw clenched tightly in order to stop the irritated groan from escaping. After controlling his reaction, Izar slowly lowered his head back down and leveled the man with a look. "What will make you realize that this isn't a dream and I need… assistance?" he asked calmly, forcing his rage to simmer for later. Now wasn't the time to get in an argument with the Dark Lord.

Voldemort remained silent, obviously not inclined to respond.

"Fine," Izar replied softly. "I will try to do this myself." He paused to consider. "And when I succeed, I expect you to crawl on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. Though, don't expect a grant of mercy."

The man's eyebrows shot up. "Grant of mercy? Child, I have giving you nothing but mercy for your cheek ever since we've met." Voldemort lifted a white hand, stroking his endless fingers in consideration. His expression revealed nothing as he surveyed Izar. "What is it that you've gotten yourself into this time?"

The pain was suddenly back. Izar leaned forward, clutching his chest as his heart skipped a beat before racing uncontrollably. It was almost if he had lost consciousness after Cygnus had taken possession and now he was waking once again—waking up to the pain. He should be thankful that he was actually waking up again rather than floating into nothingness.

"Its…it's in me…he—"

And Izar was thrown back into an endless battle filled with nothing but suffering.

{**Death of Today**}

"Are you sure you're alright, Izar?" Regulus questioned again, his voice sounding muffled and distant to Izar.

_No, I'm not alright, Regulus, but of course you won't hear me… _Izar thought in frustration as he struggled to gain control of his body once again. Cygnus caught his advances and threw him backward to the farthest depths of his mind.

It took Izar a long moment to gather himself from Cygnus' attack. He just wanted to succumb, to _rest_ and become oblivious to the pain again. But if he rested, Cygnus would take advantage and destroy Izar's spirit. He didn't know what would happen if he was consumed, but he had his assumptions that he would die and Cygnus would take over completely—just how the man had intended it to be.

Though, Izar knew Cygnus was struggling. When Izar's and Cygnus' mind clashed, there were times when Izar caught glimpses of the man's memories and thoughts. This power-struggle hadn't been accounted for. Cygnus planned to have destroyed Izar as soon as he merged inside of his body.

But he didn't take to account that he had jumped inside Izar's body too early. Cygnus hadn't been in full power and that had caused his bout of weakness. The man also didn't account for Izar's sheer determination. Izar may have been worthless at Occlumency, but he believed his stubbornness and determination were enough to keep up a fair fight with his great-great-grandfather. However, Izar knew the longer Cygnus remained in power, the more strength he would draw.

In fact, Cygnus had plans to visit the Veil and extract the rest of his soul. Izar had learned that only a fragment of Cygnus' soul had escaped the day Izar touched the Veil. And since that day, the soul was slowly seeping out from the Veil and searching for the rest of Cygnus. Cygnus wasn't whole, and until he was, Izar would have a chance at gaining back possession of his body.

He just hoped he could prevent Cygnus from getting into the Department of Mysteries.

"I'm perfectly fine, Regulus," Cygnus responded through Izar's mouth.

Izar narrowed his eyes at Cygnus' response before surveying his surroundings inside his mind. It was… definitely a scene from an overactive imagination.

When he had studied Occlumency during the summer, he was never able to see inside his mind. From what he'd read, everyone's mind took shape of a structure that was familiar to the mind-bearer. Now that Izar was actually residing _in _his mind, he finally got to see what his mind had constructed itself as.

The main part of his mind, or the forefront of his mind, resembled the Department of Mysteries with its glossy black floors, walls, and ceilings, with large doors. But the similarities ended there. Instead of the equally black doors of the Ministry, Izar's mind consisted of large mirrored-doors that were wide open, inviting anyone inside without a barrier.

His mind was open, vulnerable. And he was also violated with Cygnus' presences. His ancestor seemed to be everywhere.

Izar was currently in one of the rooms that led from the mirrored-doors. It wasn't so much as a _room _as it was a field. He grimaced as he walked through the waist-height grass, staring up at the purple sky with the luscious white clouds swimming quickly by. He looked back down, observing the paper flowers that looked as they were drawn by a child's hand. They drooped at their stems, looking just as pathetic as Izar most likely appeared.

Not only was the sky full of clouds, but it was full of objects that Izar was familiar with.

There was an old pocket-watch floating across the horizon, looking just like the one Izar had stolen from his orphanage. It was large, probably about three times larger than himself. Suddenly, a large toad followed the pocket-watch, croaking deeply. Izar winced, crouching down and covering his head as if it would protect him from the abnormal sized toad. But he had no reason to fret, for it floated past him just as quickly as the clouds.

He straightened up, feeling foolish.

"You just…" Regulus voice trailed off and Izar looked up at the sky.

If Izar focused, he could hear and see what was transpiring on the outside of his body just as easily as he could see the purple sky above him. The voices and images were blurry and distant, but he had the ability to see Regulus' concerned face.

"Yesterday, in the basement, you looked as if you were in pain," Regulus finished tensely.

Next to him, Sirius was sitting down stiffly. His uncle hadn't touched his breakfast and if Izar were in control of his body, he would engage Sirius in a conversation. No doubt the man still felt uncertain about his loyalties and what path he should follow. _Now _was the time to reassure Sirius, to seduce him.

But he couldn't. Because Cygnus was him now.

Cygnus looked down at his breakfast, offering a sharp nod toward his great-grandson. "You remember what Cygnus' portrait said, Regulus. I was going through my inheritance. It was painful, but necessary."

_Inheritance. _

Izar snorted dryly. Was that the best his _brilliant _ancestor could come up with?

Regulus didn't look too convinced as he dropped his fork and leaned forward. "And your eyes, they're black," Regulus persisted, staring at Cygnus in the eye.

Cygnus shrugged, his annoyance hot on Izar's face. "Just a common side-affect, I'm sure." Sniffing, Cygnus stood up, his silverware dropping at his uneaten plate. "I need to go to the Ministry today. I promised Owen Walden that I would meet with him to discuss the inventions I constructed for the Unspeakables this summer."

It was a lie, _all _a lie.

Izar watched as Cygnus completely ignored the concerned glance Regulus sent him. Did his father know something was wrong? Of course he did, he just wouldn't continue his interrogation. It was one of the traits Izar always looked highly upon with his father. Regulus never _pushed_ for answers. He respected Izar's privacy. Ironically, invading his privacy was what Izar _wanted _his father to do now.

"Remember we have a meeting with the judge this afternoon." Regulus sniffed deeply, his hands cupped underneath his chin as he watched Cygnus closely.

Cygnus paused in his steps, gaining Izar's attention. Meeting with the judge? Izar had forgotten about that. Regulus and he were supposed to meet with the custody judge at the Ministry with Lily Potter.

Suddenly, he felt the painful rake of Cygnus as he sorted through his memories, _his _memories. Izar tipped back his head, screaming as his spirit seemed to flicker at the onslaught and the strong sensation of invasion. Cygnus took the memories he was looking for, discarding Izar's pain.

The Black heir dropped to his knees in the field, trying desperately to keep conscious. Burrowing his head in his hands, Izar focused on the outside world.

Cygnus gave a cold smile toward Regulus. "I wouldn't forget, father."

And Izar knew Cygnus had _no _intention, once-so-ever, of attending that meeting. He would leave Regulus dry and appearing like a fool before the judge. Izar mourned for that, but he had more important things to focus on.

Like trying to gain possession of his body once again. It was _his _and Izar would be damned if he let his lack of Occlumency skill be the reason of his downfall. Voldemort would likely find it amusing and Izar wouldn't let Voldemort gloat.

Just as Izar was about to break his connection to the outside world in order to regain strength, he noticed something in the corner of Cygnus' vision. His ancestor failed to see Kreacher watching him in the corner of the room with a scrunched up face and low ears.

Izar quickly drew his awareness away from the outside world as he felt Cygnus leave Grimmauld Place.

He felt oddly smug as he lay in the tall grass and looked up at the purple sky.

Cygnus had a weakness. He was blind to everything but his goal of immortality. He wouldn't think Voldemort was a threat, he wouldn't think Regulus would be suspicious, and he wouldn't believe that Kreacher could have seen what happened last night. Cygnus would be on a one-track mind until he gained his whole soul back from the Veil. And until then, no one was of consequence to him.

And Cygnus' weaknesses were what Izar was relying on.

But would Kreacher and Regulus act before they got to the Ministry?

Izar suddenly felt overwhelmed. Cygnus was on his way _now_. There was no way someone would stop him.

Narrowing his eyes up at the sky, Izar felt the cold sensation of anger chill his chest and insides. He grabbed hold of the darkness and used it to strengthen himself. He realized the only person who could stop Cygnus was himself. It was of no use relying on others.

Just as he was about to make his way to the forefront of his mind to battle Cygnus again, a shadow fell over his lazy form. He looked up at his intruder before his eyes narrowed into slits. With the dark magic swirling about Izar, his words came out in a hiss.

"What are _you _doing here?"

{**Death of Today**}

Regulus stood up as the visitor showed himself into the kitchen.

"I wasn't expecting you, Undersecretary Riddle," he welcomed dryly, flashing a look at Sirius before turning his attention on the politician. It wasn't smart to keep his focus off the man for long, Merlin knew what the Dark Lord had planned.

Brown eyes focused on Regulus briefly before turning away in disinterest. "I've come for the boy," the man replied stiffly. Next to him, Kreacher was wringing his hands together, his lips tugged downward in a heavy frown.

The boy.

Regulus grimaced as he sat down again. "I'm afraid _the boy_ has already departed for the Ministry."

Sirius quickly stood up, excusing himself from the room. Regulus watched his older brother leave and shut the door behind him. His lips thinned before he turned back to the Dark Lord in disguise. The man was dressed in richly sewn robes, clearly signaling he was on his way to the Ministry to fool the world behind a smile.

The Dark Lord flashed Regulus a warning stare, his attention finally becoming absorbed on him. Regulus didn't know what was better; having the Dark Lord's undivided attention or only his sparse consideration. His neck prickled at the continuous stare. The man's eyes were charmed an innocent brown, nothing like his split-crimson. Yet they seemed just as cruel and dangerous. Regulus wondered how Izar was able to stand his ground on the other end of that stare.

Regulus bowed his head in reverence.

"Has he been appearing in good health?"

The question caught him off guard and he looked up at the man in contemplation. He would follow the Dark Lord in the war, he would even fight for him and defend him. However, Regulus' loyalty belonged to Izar and his son alone. He didn't _trust _the Dark Lord with his son. And he would try his hardest to protect Izar from the man's tainted reach. It never occurred to Regulus that Izar was not the pure child he liked to think of him as. He seemed to forget the changes Izar went through this summer.

"He's perfectly fine, just as well as he was the last time you saw him. Yesterday, if you'd forgotten… My Lord," Regulus replied calmly.

Regulus stiffened when the Dark Lord lowered his chin, all the while keeping his eyes locked on him. A cruel and cold smile stretched his lips as the man took a step closer. "Need I remind you, Black, that you are alive _only _because your son wishes it? Hmm?"

The man sauntered over to Regulus, his long fingers brushing against the dinning table in his wake. Regulus felt a chilly sensation wash down his spine the closer the Dark Lord approached.

"Master Regulus, sirs—"

Regulus held up a hand to silence the distressed house-elf, keeping his wary attention on the Dark Lord. "Only because Izar wishes it?" Regulus repeated the man's words with a dry voice. "I find it hard to believe that an unmerciful Lord leaves one man alive just for a sixteen-year-old boy's contentment. What is it that you _really _want with my son, My Lord? Is it _sex_?"

His pulse was racing with the words of disrespect he was spitting at the Dark Lord. By all means, he should be on the floor in pain, screaming pleas of apology to his Lord. Instead, a wicked gleam entered the Dark Lord's eyes as he leaned down toward Regulus.

"If that were the case, he would be chained to my bedposts." The man cocked his head to the side, a sinister smirk matching his taunting posture. "But he is a delicious boy, is he not? The Blacks are notorious for incest; tell me, do you often see your son underneath—"

"You sick bastard," Regulus breathed, his jugular vein hot with the fury. He only saw red as he looked at a chuckling Dark Lord but willed himself to calm down.

The Dark Lord Voldemort was a master at deceit, with mind games. Regulus didn't know what to believe or what to listen to. He wondered at his own son's sanity. Clearly, Izar must have some sign of insanity to be able to deal with the Dark Lord so often. What _was _his son like in the Dark Lord's presence? Was he as sick as the Dark Lord? As cruel as the Dark Lord?

"_Regulus!" _

Regulus stood up abruptly at his brother's desperate call. With one last look at a smirking Dark Lord, he walked quickly from the room and toward the sound of Sirius' voice.

He was surprised to find Sirius in the drawing room, staring at the Black tapestry. "Sirius?" Regulus called, uncertain with Sirius' reaction. The man was standing stiffly, a pallid shade of shock and horror crossing his features.

Before Regulus could ask after his brother again, the Dark Lord stepped into the room.

"What is this?" Sirius whispered hoarsely.

Feeling dread twist his stomach, Regulus took a step toward the Black tapestry. Immediately his eyes landed on Izar's place on the Black family tree. His heart plummeted to his gut as he watched Izar's face turn into a skull before slowly fading back to human. His son's face and date of decease kept flickering back and forth, almost if it was uncertain where to stay.

"And this?" Sirius exclaimed loudly, pointing toward the branch lower in the tree.

Regulus' blood ran cold when he met eyes with Cygnus Black. Instead of a skull and a decease date of 1943, a face of flesh and only the birth date of 1889 appeared.

"Impossible," Regulus whispered. "Cygnus… he's supposed to be _dead_." He whirled around, searching for the Dark Lord's reaction. He didn't know why he thought the man would express his emotions; it was foolish of him to believe so. The Dark Lord only appeared blank as he studied the tapestry before leveling Regulus with a cool stare.

"He appeared in perfect health, yes?" The man taunted with a light sneer to his lips. "What is the meaning of this, Black? Cygnus' Curse becomes Cygnus' Possession?"

Regulus shook his head, feeling light-headed. He wasn't aware of his breathing becoming irregular until Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. "I didn't _know_," Regulus whispered. He shakily sat down, his mind reeling with possible solutions to save Izar. Was there any _hope_?

"I tried to tell Master Regulus," the voice interrupted the tense and shocked silence.

Regulus looked up, catching sight of Kreacher huddling in the corner. "Kreacher," Regulus stood up. "What were you trying to tell me?"

Kreacher looked up at the Dark Lord before turning to Regulus. "In the basement, Master. Master Izar was in pain. Kreacher didn't see Cygnus but he _heard _Master Izar talk to him. And then Kreacher sees something go _inside_ Master Izar."

Regulus hurried past Kreacher and made his way down to the basement. He wasn't aware of the others following, all that drove him was his son's well-being. With a desperate wave of his wand, he cast a nonverbal _Lumos _and hunted down the portrait. It sat against the wall, the same place as it was yesterday when Izar had collapsed on the ground.

How _foolish _could Regulus be? His son had been in relentless pain, yet Regulus believed him when he said it was his inheritance. Ever since Izar woke up yesterday, after his conversation with Cygnus, his son hadn't been the same. It was clear now that it had been Cygnus controlling Izar's body.

The thought made him desperate, almost insanely so. He could feel the dark grow around him and he took power from it greedily.

"What did you do to him?" Regulus demanded sharply. He stabbed his wand at the portrait of his ancestor, ready to tear the frame and painting to pieces with his bare hands. "My son. What did you _do _to my son?"

Cygnus' dark eyes looked lazily up at Regulus. "It was his birthright as a Black," the man commented laboriously. "Be lucky it was not you."

Spittle flew from Regulus' lips as he hissed at the portrait. His teeth were grinding together so fiercely that sharp pains danced across his neck and cheeks. "That is not what I'm asking," Regulus whispered coolly. "What did you do to him?"

The grim line to Cygnus' lips twitched before he offered a dark chuckle. "What do you think happened?" Cygnus reared his head back and laughed. "The boy should have been dead as soon as Cygnus merged with him. Stubborn little bastard isn't he? I'm afraid, child, as soon as they reach the Veil, he will be gone. Though your admiration is touching, it is unwarranted."

There was a shuffle behind him and Regulus turned, watching as the Dark Lord turned for upstairs. "Where are you going?" Regulus asked desperately. Izar must have left at least five minutes ago, they didn't stand a chance.

A twinkling crimson eye bled through the calm brown. "I have the power to lock down the Ministry, of course."

Regulus hesitated for just a moment before leaping behind the tall figure of the Undersecretary. Sirius was already hot on his heels.

"Don't underestimate him," Cygnus' portrait whispered in glee behind them. "The boy may not know how to use his suppressed powers, but Cygnus created them. You won't stand a chance."

The words chilled Regulus but his determination to reach his son made him flush with adrenaline.

**{Death of Today}**

"To help you of course," she whispered silkily.

Her long mane of crimson hair pooled to the small of her back as she sat gracefully beside Izar. He couldn't help but to notice her dress. It was a beautiful shade of green and blue, bringing out the bright hue of emerald in her eyes. Her porcelain skin seemed to glow in the purple light of the sky. Her long eyelashes framed her heart-shaped face, bringing attention to her full lips. She couldn't have been a day over twenty-two.

This vision of Lily Potter was a far cry to the one in reality. She was a picture of grace and elegance and her aura draped across her with the brightest of magics. For a brief moment, Izar felt ashamed to be so close to her, tainting her with his dark aura. But he threw that thought away in disgust.

Izar laid back down in the field, slamming his eyes shut in horror. What was he? A bloody pervert? Admiring every delicate curve and hollow of his _mother_?

Despite all this, he was glad to have finally laid eyes on the woman his father fell in love with. _This _Lily was the one that allured Regulus. And he didn't blame his father for being star-struck.

"I can do this on my own," he replied gruffly. "I certainly don't need _you _to help me." He cracked open an eye and glared at her. "How did you get inside my mind? Am I merely conjuring up your image like I am the frogs in the sky?" With a pale hand, he motioned toward the croaking toads in the sky.

She offered a bright smile, flashing a look at the overhead skies. "No," she replied gently. "I am a shard of Lily Evan's soul."

Izar's eyes snapped open and he became utterly _aware _of everything. Lily smiled and slowly leaned forward to drape her body next to his. She propped her head up with a well-manicured hand and studied Izar through warm eyes. She seemed to be scrutinizing his every feature into her memory.

"You're a Horcrux?" Izar breathed in disbelief. "But that's _impossible_." Shock made him lay still as she reached out a hand and cupped his cheek. The pad of her thumb stroked the tender skin beneath his eye.

Her lips pursed into another smile. "How is that impossible?" she asked dryly.

He stared at her in skepticism. "Horcruxes are the darkest branch of magic. You _fight _against the Dark Lord who has Horcruxes," he fibbed easily at the last bit. He had to remember that Dumbledore and Lily believed Voldemort to have Horcruxes. And Voldemort _wanted _them to believe as such in order to hide his status as a creature. "You preach against killing, and yet, you seemed to have killed someone out of cold blood to create a Horcrux."

Her green eyes dimmed and she looked down at the matted grass. "Whereas I have only one Horcrux, the Dark Lord has several. And he continues to use the Dark Arts for pleasure. The day I constructed this Horcrux was the day I vowed to never touch the Dark Arts again."

She had been living a half-life since the day she constructed the Horcrux. When Izar had first met her in the Department of Mysteries, she had appeared almost _dead_. It wasn't just out of grief over her past, but it was also because her soul had been torn. It suddenly made sense.

"Why did you do it? Why construct something so _Dark_?" he asked evenly, allowing the hand to say upon his face. He already had his suspicions of why Lily constructed a Horcrux, but they all seemed…

She sighed softly, staring up at the clouds and frogs once again. "When I held you in my hands after I gave birth to you, I was consumed with grief and an overwhelming sense of love. I knew I would never feel such love again after I gave you to the Muggle orphanage. I felt as if a part of me died the day I gave you away. I threw myself into my work at the Department of Mysteries, the Death Chamber in particular."

Lily paused, her face unreadable as she watched a passing Portkey in the skies. "With my continued work, I began to notice a single spirit taking residence in the forefront of the Veil. Days on end, I would listen to him until I went mad at the hours I spent before the Veil. There were some days my colleges had to pull me away from it, but eventually, I started to realize who the man was on the other side. Regulus once told me Cygnus' Curse was Necromancy. And I began to realize that he was wrong. It was possession."

Izar gave a dry snort, rolling his eyes upward at the passing clouds.

Lily moved her hand down Izar's cheek and laid it on his chest. "I became… frightened when I realized what Cygnus intended. And while I didn't know for sure if you were his intended vessel, I knew it was a possibility. Becoming desperate, I did the only thing I knew would work. I created a Horcrux. I stored away part of my soul inside the Veil, on Cygnus' spirit in particular. I merged with him and he's oblivious to my tag-along. With my presence, I have to power to protect your spirit—to keep you grounded in your own body."

Her face fell. "I did a terrible thing by constructing that Horcrux. I murdered an innocent man. But I was fueled by my desperation to keep you safe. All I could remember was holding you and feeling that strong emotion that came with it. You were so innocent, an innocent in this whole game I played with Regulus. I'd be damned if I allowed the possession to kill you just because you were born."

Izar sat up, her hand slipping from his chest. He frowned at the paper flowers, his thoughts a mess. It wasn't in his nature to feel pity or strong compassion, save for the ones he truly cared for. He was _dark _by nature. He turned a cold shoulder to men and women if they were suffering; he hated Muggles and disliked Muggle-borns.

But he couldn't help but to feel _something _at Lily's act of desperation. Not only did she risk her own life by living without part of her emotions, without a part of her soul, but she sacrificed her purity in the Light by doing something she can never take back.

"I can confidently say I would do this all over again, my son." Lily sat up with him, her eyes glued to his face. "I did it out of a mother's love, but I also did it out of selfish means. I felt guilty and torn up over what I did to Regulus and you. I wanted those emotions _gone_ and I believed a Horcrux could take them away." She peered at him closely. "Did it work? Do I still seem to harbor that devastating guilt? I deserve it, but I…"

He stared at her, seeing nothing but a woman lost in her own past mistakes. "No," Izar breathed. "You feel no guilt for what you did to Regulus. But… you claim you feel regret for what you did to me."

He didn't comment that she had probably seen his interaction with Lily Potter. If she had been with Cygnus' sprit since he'd escaped the Veil, she would have been there at the Second Task. Or perhaps she only blinked in and out of existence when she and Cygnus were at their strongest.

This Lily before him would have no memory of what she did after she constructed the Horcrux. This younger version of Lily was what Lily Potter had been like before she constructed the Horcrux and lost most of her emotions and humanity. Nothing was on her mind but the desperation to save her son and the hope to numb away the guilt for what she did to Regulus and Izar.

"_Do_ you feel regret for what you did to Regulus?" Izar pondered. "Your older self claims you do not, and that you'd do it all again for the Light."

She gave a shaky smile. "At the time I believed I was doing it for the greater good, to destroy the rising Dark Lord. But afterward, I was consumed with anguish. What I did to him was no better than what the Dark side would do to their own people. I manipulated his feelings, his trust, and turned it against him. And what I did to you— I conceived you as _bait_."

Izar could see her inner turmoil. He wanted to hate her, to tell her over and over again that he didn't need her help. What she did to Regulus was unforgivable and Izar couldn't comprehend why she did it in the first place. But he found himself silent of his accusations. This Lily was truly remorseful for what she did. And if _she _was remorseful, then Lily Potter was once remorseful before the Horcrux had been constructed.

Regulus and Severus Snape once claimed that Lily Evans would _never _feel remorse for what she did.

But Izar was looking firsthand at the evidence. They had been wrong. This Lily before him had nothing to gain by lying to him. She couldn't merge back to her former self and she had nothing on her mind but helping Izar gain control of his body.

He didn't know how this would change his view on Lily Potter, but right now, he was free to enjoy something he'd always secretly wanted.

A mother.

No one would find out about how _soft _he was being, simply because it was in his mind. Once Cygnus was destroyed, Lily would go with him. There was no way she could reach Lily Potter once again and tell her everything. Izar could enjoy this brief second of comfort. Consequences be damned.

He reached out and curled his hand around her fingers. She looked taken aback at his action. And if she had been watching him since that day she escaped the Veil with Cygnus, Izar couldn't blame her. She would have seen everything that Cygnus had. She would have seen Izar torturing the Muggle during the Yuletide festivities. She would have seen him trading spit with the Dark Lord against the rough bark of a tree.

Despite this, she still seemed to view him as the most angelic boy she had ever met.

"I forgive you." The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

But again, he had to remind himself that this _wasn't _the real Lily Potter. There was nothing wrong with reassuring this shard of Lily's soul that he forgave her, that he wanted to touch her and see her. A deep part of him wished there was more time to get to know this woman, but he knew that was unrealistic.

Her face crumbled as she leaned forward and engulfed him in a hug. "I don't deserve that. But it means so much to hear it."

Her fingers tightened around his body and Izar found himself slowly relaxing in the hold.

The embrace lasted about five seconds until he grew uncomfortable with the cuddling. He pulled back, trying to swallow the disgust at how soft he was behaving. The hug he shared with Lily wasn't as warm and life-changing as he thought a mother's hold would be.

He decided that the absence of her in his life had cooled that desire to have a mother. As a child, he had always dreamed of a warm mother's hold and the caresses on his face. Clearly, that child's hope and desire had dried out the older and colder he became.

Odd, he didn't feel that way with Regulus.

He offered her a brief smile. "What do you have planned?"

* * *

{**Notes**} Hmm…

Thanks for the reviews last chapter. Sorry for my extended absence.


	37. Part II Chapter 5

**{Notes} **I hated last chapter, but I would like to thank those of you who reviewed anyway and are still reading. *Nervous Laugh*. I tried to post this chapter quicker for all of you as means as a review-reply. ;)

A _lot _of thinking on Cygnus' part.

**Chapter Five**

The Minister chuckled, patting his overhung belly as he overlooked the tall and thin figure before him. Sometimes he wondered how men like Riddle could shed those extra pounds despite the many meals eaten at a desk. Not to mention, the political outings at those lush restaurants…

To Cornelius, it was all about presentation. While he may lack the trimness Tom possessed, Cornelius was far bolder in the fashion scene. Perhaps, when he stepped down from Minister, he could offer Tom advice about adding more _color _to his wardrobe. A pair of pointed purple boots would go a long way on his Undersecretary.

One can never be old enough to enjoy the finer things in life.

"A lockdown," Fudge chuckled again, shaking his head and patting down his wayward curls. "What… we haven't had a lockdown in _decades, _Tom." He then adjusted his spectacles on his nose, eyeing the reports before him with circumspection.

One thing he wouldn't miss after his term as Minister would be the _paperwork. _He shook his head again, caressing the rolls of parchment. He debated if using the navy blue ink had been a good idea for his correspondence with France in regards to tweaking their peace treaty. Apparently, there have been some stirrings of rumored _Dark Lords _in France. In _France_. It was utterly unheard of.

He reached for his glass of water and gulped down the cool liquid, using it as means to dally. This week couldn't go any slower. Britain would vote for their Minister on Friday and he would pack his boxes on Monday as soon as the results trickled in.

Unfortunately, a few boxes were not the only thing he would be worried about. There were all those balls he had to prepare for and speeches he needed to struggle through with the introduction of the new Minister.

"Really, Tom," Fudge licked his lips. "What is this world coming to? Dark Lords? Why, in my day, when there was uproar with political separatists, they were called 'terrorists'. Terrorists," he bellowed. "Dark Lords… Light Lords… there is no such thing. They're only a band of hooligans wanting to get their voice heard. The Ministry is what governs and herds the people together. Not some… _cult_ who causes terror. All the Ministry needs to do is crack down a few more strict laws and these terrorists groups will dissolve. France just needs to follow our lead. There haven't been anymore attacks in Britain since Rufus Scrimgeour has expressed his aspiration to become the next Minister of Magic. When he takes office—"

A hand slammed down on his drying parchment, startling him and smearing the ink across the scroll. Cornelius blinked, frowning at the long-fingered hand before looking up at his Undersecretary.

"As much as your long-winded opinion on the situation in Britain _intrigues_ me, Minister, we were speaking about the lockdown. Surely pushing a button will save you the energy needed to finish that speech you've prepared for me." Tom stared at him levelly before his lips stretched into a smile that seemed as if it were an afterthought.

Cornelius blinked at the strong, white teeth in front of him before spluttering. "A lockdown!" he shook his head heatedly. "There hasn't been a lockdown in—"

"Decades," Tom interrupted, his tone thick and dry. His eyes became hooded as he stared off into space. "Yes, you've already vocalized as such, Minister."

Cornelius looked down in dismay as Tom removed his hand from his letter. He had almost finished his correspondence to the French Ministry and now the neat calligraphy was smeared—with no hope of revival. He looked up, spying Tom wiping his hand on the upholstery of the office chair.

"I just don't see the _point _to the lockdown, Tom. There is no need to stop the flow of the Ministry. Do you know how many appointments would be set back—" he tapered off when he noticed a change in atmosphere.

His pale eyes jumped to his cup of water, spying the slight ripples dancing at the top. He frowned, feeling himself become light-headed and a bit uncomfortable. "A… a bit muggy in here, don't you think, Tom?"

"Perhaps," a voice drawled. "You're just loosing oxygen from your uncontrollable blabbering."

Cornelius looked up abruptly, sweat beading his hairline. "I beg your pardon?" He eyed his Undersecretary, wondering when the man seemed to get so _tall. _Shadows seemed to hug Tom's cloak and expression, bringing attention to those piercing eyes.

Fudge swallowed thickly, realizing the air was growing both cooler and warmer. It was a conflicting sensation, and even more so with the slight static in the air. It almost felt like… like _magic. _But that was impossible. Tom Riddle did not possess any impressive power, did he?

The Undersecretary wizard placed his palms on his desk once again, leaning forward. A smile that Cornelius would consider sinister played Riddle's features. "I think issuing a lockdown drill will be a superior idea, don't you?"

Cornelius opened his mouth, ready to remind Tom that it was not possible, until a sharp pain exploded behind his eyes and erased his train of thought.

For a moment, he was shocked into silence. His head buckled as the invasion tore through his mind. Jaw trembling, Cornelius issued a high-pitched scream to express the unbearable pain dancing behind his eyes and across his skull.

"_No one will hear your screams, Cornelius_," a voice whispered almost lovingly in his mind. _"This won't take too long. I daresay you'll be home to Mrs. Fudge in no time. I'm sure she'll nurse your migraine away with her homemade Danish pastries." _

He slumped over his desk, the pain was too great and he soon fell silent. It felt as if things were… _shifting_ and rearranging inside his mind. He gurgled, blowing a raspberry with his spit. It dribbled down his lips and onto his chin. He smiled when the man above him chuckled and patted his cheek. If it was amusing, why not do it again?

This time, he blew a larger one. A jet of spit escaped his lips and spilt down the front of his robes. Cornelius snickered as a few droplets stained the letter on his desk. He would have _liked _to drown the letter in a loo.

"_Now, now, you wouldn't want to stain your pinstriped robes, would you, Minister?" _Cornelius shook his head, moaning. _"We must do a lockdown drill. The Ministry and the workers will benefit considerably from this drill. Not only will it organize our direction in a _real _lockdown, but it will remind our employees that the Ministry has the power to control operations. You won't want to seem weak, would you? The Ministry has _every _right to order a lockdown drill. It's time we practice it." _

Blinking, he began to see sense to what Undersecretary Riddle was getting at. It would do well to practice these things. Just in case a real situation arose.

"Yess," Cornelius slurred. "Yes, Mr. Riddle, you are… are indeed right…"

"_You won't remember this mind invasion, will you? You had a diplomatic discussion in your office with me. You've been having reoccurring migraines from the stress of stepping down as Minister. It's understandable." _

Moistening his dry lips, Fudge nodded. "Understandable…"

Suddenly, the pressure in his mind lessened and he blinked, frowning. He looked up, spying Tom sitting cross-legged on the chair in front of him. His Undersecretary gazed at him with heavy concern. "Are you alright, Minister?" Tom leaned forward, quickly searching his inner pocket. "Your nose! It's bleeding."

Cornelius flushed crimson as blood dripped from his nose and on his robes. "Oh, heavens," he chuckled, flustered. "I'm afraid I've been feeling under the weather, Tom. You understand the stress—don't you?" He took the offered handkerchief from Tom and dabbed his nose. "I've been having these horrible migraines. Stress migraines, mind you. I—"

"Minister?" Tom interrupted smoothly. "The lockdown?"

Cornelius blinked. Tom seemed to be a bit under the weather as well, judging from the strained smile on his face. "Of course, of course." He took his wand off his desk and gave a wave toward the portrait of his lake home.

The gold-platted frame opened, revealing the emergency button and speaker. He offered Tom a smile before pressing the lockdown key.

Oddly enough, the Undersecretary was already out the door before the alarms rang. Cornelius had wanted to discuss the France peace treaty in more detail with Tom before he went home to Mrs. Fudge. Perhaps she would have some of her homemade Danish pastries made. Surely, her delicious pastries and a tumbler of firewhiskey would do his migraine some good.

It was simply _unbearable._

**{Death of Today}**

Somewhere in the Ministry, a cloaked figure paused to consider the blaring alarm and darkening atmosphere of the Ministry. A sly smirk crossed his pale features as he slowly continued forward.

"This is your Minister for Magic speaking," the voice blared across the Ministry just as loudly as the alarms. "Effective immediately, there will be a scheduled lockdown drill for all Departments in the Ministry. Halls and corridors will be cleared and employees will be asked to remain in their offices until the lockdown as been completed. Lifts exiting and entering the Ministry will be deactivated as will all Floo directories.

"Trained Aurors will be walking the corridors, aiding and escorting all visitors in the direction of assigned safe-zones. Anyone seen not complying with the lockdown will face possible suspension. Thank you for your compliance as we make our Ministry stronger and more secure."

Cygnus chuckled, his eyes alighting. They were shutting down the Ministry for him, for _him. _

For _one _boy. One measly _boy_.

They were fools, the lot of them.

_You must be held in high regard, my grandson… _Cygnus murmured in his mind.

Mentally, he searched for his young grandson, finding him easily in the far depths of their mind. For a moment, Cygnus hovered near Izar's presence, tempted to torture and absorb the energy the boy had gathered since their last confrontation. There _was _more energy around the boy, a lot _lighter _in flavor than before. The last taste he had from his descendant was a magic that was just as sickly and seductively dark as his own.

Perhaps the boy was trying to fight darkness with the light? It was a foolish idea and one Cygnus found amusing. Let the boy attempt his last line of defense. Cygnus would allow that much. In fact, he had grown fond of the boy and would extend their interactions as long as possible.

If he didn't know any better, he'd assume that Izar Black was a reincarnation of himself. They were incredibly similar; both prodigies, both Dark and powerful, and both determined. Nevertheless, there was one major difference between the two of them.

Izar was _weak _and almost pitiful with his attachments. Cygnus knew the boy considered himself cold and indifferent toward people, but Cygnus had seen differently. His descendant held high regard to his father and even his blood-traitor uncle. Both of the older Blacks were weaker than the boy—yet Izar surrounded himself with them constantly.

There were others that the boy treated fairly when he should have acted his rightful place of higher hierarchy.

Izar was powerful, and yet, the boy had yet to reach and realize his full potential.

_I'll show you real power before you cease to exist, boy. I'll show you the power you _failed _to see at your fingertips. _Cygnus mentally relayed to Izar as he slithered down the halls of the Department of Mysteries.

He felt a spark of interest coming from his grandson at his words. But otherwise, the boy remained silent and still. Cygnus snarled at him before leaving the depths of their mind.

Izar would have gone far, but his attachments took over and consumed him until he was in the background—in the shadows. When Cygnus had established his life, his wife and children were just means to carry on the Black line. His children, especially, were bastard rats, bred for his own experiments. He needed them for immortality and when they showed no signs of carrying his artificial gene and DNA, he had locked himself away for the remainder of his life. They only had one memory of him, and that was his orders to continue on the Black line.

They had meant _nothing _to him. And having no attachments made him strive with his inventions, with his experiments. Having no attachments was where it got him today.

Immortality.

He achieved immortality were others had failed. And he planned to do _much _more this time around than be a simple inventor.

Admittedly, there was one thing that stood in his way after he gathered the rest of his spirit from the Veil. It was that… half-blood. That dirtied wizard who claimed the title of a Dark Lord. The very same man who considered a sixteen-year-old boy a worthy lover.

It would be a difficult struggle against the Dark Lord, he accepted as much. But Cygnus had no doubts that he could easily step over the man. Izar's magic was powerful and his unbridled gift was what would cause the Dark Lord's fall. It was simple. Laughable, really.

More time was what he _could_ have used. He wasn't used to changing his personality to resemble a teenaged-boy with stars in his eyes for his father. Regulus had been suspicious of him, and somehow, he had known. Had his portrait in Grimmauld Place talked?

Judging from the Ministry lockdown, Cygnus believed the Dark Lord had something to do with his lack of time.

No matter. He would reach the Veil and he would be whole once again. It would be easy, just as easy as it had been to possess the boy and take over. He had slipped into his descendant's body like butter. There had been a slight struggle from Izar, but Cygnus had overpowered naturally. The only thing he hadn't planned on was Izar's survival. Cygnus would have thought, even though he wasn't whole, that his merge with the boy would result in death.

Was it sheer determination that allowed the boy these extra hours of struggle? Or was it something else?

He paused before shaking off his suspicion. It didn't matter. After he merged with the rest of his spirit, he would leave Britain and begin his new path. His first goal was to take the Black estates away from his undeserving descendants. His second priority was to secure a bitch to pass down his line. After Izar's body aged, he would need another descendant who carried his artificial gene. Hopefully this time, his vessel would come within one or two generations.

He'd been gone for too long. And he didn't care for the changes in the wizarding world. No matter, it was just another set of priorities to take care of.

Cygnus dodged through the corridors in the shadows. It was easy enough. The lighting in the Ministry was at its lowest power in the lockdown.

He didn't need to rake Izar's memories to remember where the Veil was. When he had been young, he spent days upon days before that archway. It took him years to grasp that he couldn't implant immortality inside his already aging body, but it would be possible to plant it in his DNA—in his sperm— and pass it on to his descendants.

Immortality had to start at the fetus. His goal had been to keep himself earth-bound after he passed away and allow easy access for possession when he came in contact with his carrier. He hadn't been looking to make his descendant immortal. Izar was _not _immortal, yet he carried Cygnus' gene that allowed for an easy possession and magic Dark and exclusive enough to be able to come in contact with the Veil without passing away.

When Cygnus had been on his deathbed, he had been devastated that none of his children and grandchildren possessed the 'Curse'. He had been frightened of death, of being bound to the Veil for all of eternity. But his efforts had worked eventually.

A pity his vessel had to be the only worthy ally. He could have used Izar's prodigy mind, his twisted inventions.

As Cygnus entered the Death Chamber, he immediately felt the Veil without seeing it. He could feel the rest of his spirit behind the tattered curtain and inside the archway.

_I'm coming… _

His glee made him blind to his surroundings. If he had been paying attention, he would have seen the Dark Lord dwelling in the shadows, his eyes sharp and focused on him.

But Cygnus had only one thing on his mind.

The pleasant drop of temperature was familiar to him as it raised goose bumps on his arms and neck. The stunning atmosphere of the Death Chamber was even more astonishing through the eyes of someone so young and healthy. Cygnus slowly approached the edge of the cavity, looking down past the different levels of tiered benches and zeroing in on the archway standing proudly at the center of the pit. Its tattered Veil rippled beautifully, rivaling the appearance of the finest spun silk.

The only thing distracting from its beauty were the three figures standing guard, arguing quite loudly.

Cygnus gave a deep growl in distaste when he identified them. The two Black idiots and the Mudblood. Admittedly, it had been foolish of him to take his time arriving at the Ministry. He had been so overwhelmed with the sensation of _living _again that he hadn't even considered a roadblock.

Despite them standing in the way, a tight sensation of pleasure knotted his stomach.

This would be… fun.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar leaped off the frog and quickly closed the door to the meadow behind him. He peered around the illusion of the Department of Mysteries, knowing all too well that Cygnus was currently at the _real _Department of Mysteries.

He scowled, feeling as if they were running out of time, yet not having the power to speed things up. "What happens if he merges fully with the rest of his spirit? You claim I won't—"

"You won't die," she replied vehemently, passionately. "I've looked into this scenario for years, Izar." She turned her tired green eyes on him. "If I didn't believe a Horcrux would work, I would have never created one. A Horcrux has its own magic, no matter how small of amount that may be. I have the power to protect your essence and keep you within your own mind."

Izar turned away from her imploring expression and surveyed the forefront of his mind. Cygnus didn't seem to care if he was this far up in his mind, for his ancestor did nothing to throw him back. For a long moment, he studied the glossy black walls and floors.

"I'm sure Legilimency would help throw Cygnus out of my mind," he mused, turning back to Lily. Her dress had deepened to a bottomless ruby, offsetting her hair. "Going through the process of creating a Horcrux might have been futile. And a meaningless sacrifice on your behalf."

She shook her head, her hair veiling her shoulders and back. "Legilimency will not help, my son. Cygnus created this Curse to have your body open for his attack. Your genes are manipulated by _him _in order to carry his spirit. Mind magic will do nothing to counter this attack."

He frowned, remembering his conversation with Cygnus before the man possessed him. "But he claimed if I learned Occlumency it might have been impossible for him to merge," Izar pointed out.

"That's true. However, that was the merging process. This is the possession. Now that he's taken root inside your body, inside your mind, something as simple as Legilimency will not help. If you had learned Occlumency before hand, if you were a Master at it, it would have been possible to avoid this." She offered a tight smile. "I'm sure you've noticed your lack of ability to learn Occlumency. This is simply because Cygnus _willed _it when he began constructing this Curse. He wanted you to be vulnerable. A Dark Lord teaching you Occlumency was a threat to him. He had to gain possession of you sooner to avoid that chance of you mastering Occlumency."

Izar didn't know whether to feel impressed by his ancestor's creative works or smug that it wasn't _his _fault he was terrible at Occlumency.

Everything made sense and it seemed to slide right into place. The one thing he didn't understand is why Lily Potter pushed him in front of the Veil in the first place. If he hadn't touched the Veil to begin with, he might have never had this problem.

He watched her through hooded eyes. They had just finished cleaning Cygnus' tainted reach out of the meadow. According to Lily, she believed they could work from the inside out. He remembered staring at her blankly when she proposed the idea of banishing the traces of Cygnus in each room of his mind.

"_And how are we going to accomplish that?" _Izar had asked spitefully. _"You think we can just clean out the rooms of my mind and simply shut the door behind us?" _

She had smiled. _"You have the power to do anything. It _is _your mind after all, Izar." _

He had scoffed. She was hiding something from him. It wouldn't be that easy. They couldn't just destroy the traces of Cygnus in each room of his mind and then seal the door behind them. What was stopping Cygnus from noticing the doors to the forefront of his mind were closing? What was stopping him from opening them back up? To Izar, this cleaning process was a lot like Occlumency. And Lily had just stated that Occlumency and Legilimency wouldn't help banish Cygnus from his mind.

"This is a waste of our time," Izar spoke cruelly. He turned on her, hoping to see a sinister scheme behind those emerald eyes. There was none. He pointed at her, feeling anger twist his stomach and chest. "How will any of this protect us from Cygnus? He'll just open all the doors back up and dig himself deeper in the mind, in _my _mind."

The frog he had been riding on gave a dry croak of outrage at Izar's level of voice and jumped away into one of the open doors. Izar paid it no heed as he focused on Lily. She fidgeted with her hair, throwing a glance further up the corridor of the Department of Mysteries.

"I'm not particularly sure if this will work," she confessed after a moment of silence. Before he could cut her off, she continued. "But I know, without a doubt, that you will survive this. I know that you will eventually be able to fight him back with a stronger force. Having your mind shut, or these doors, will aid us in the meantime."

Izar placed his hands on he knees, trying to control his anger. He breathed deeply. "How can you _possibly _be sure I can survive this intact? You have no credibility, hell, you don't have any idea what you're doing."

She turned her back to him and pressed her palm to the mirrored door they had just exited. "I have the power to protect you—"

He stood up abruptly, taking a large step forward. "You've said that already. What power can you possibly harbor in _my _mind?"

Lily was already a small witch, but she looked even smaller as she bowed her head and hunched her shoulders. "I have the power… I have a mother's love, a mother's sacrifice."

Izar felt his throat contract and he struggled to breathe properly as he glared at her. "A mother's love?" he whispered disbelievingly before his voice rose considerably. "How can that be possible when you aren't even a _mother_?" He opened his arms wide, grinding his teeth as the emotion grew too strong for him to remain impassive.

She turned abruptly, her hair wrapping around her neck similar to that of a crimson cobra. "I know what I did was wrong, Izar," she breathed passionately. "I spent two days cradling you to my chest after I gave birth to you, speculating what I should do. Those two days were the happiest I have ever felt. I never felt such pure and chaste love, but at the same time, I felt an overwhelming grief for conceiving you out of spite. I know after I dropped you off at the orphanage that it had been a mistake. I know that! I know that."

He didn't want to see the tears in her eyes. Izar turned his cheek stubbornly, not at all impressed with the tears. They were meaningless to him. The words, however, were still ringing in his ears.

"I was young and I was lost," she continued desperately. "And I was consumed with even more guilt for leaving you. After I created a Horcrux, I knew I could never take you back and raise you with half a soul, with half a shred of humanity. Allow me this last chance at redemption, allow me this sacrifice. Don't underestimate my love for my child. I may not have raised you, but there will always be that uncontrollable admiration, there will always be those two days of holding you in my arms. A mother's love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible."

She was a twisted and broken woman, hardened and put together again after her fall from grace. She was once a young and brilliant witch, but she allowed Dumbledore to manipulate her mind. He made her see the Dark as the ultimate enemy and that she had to sacrifice everything to stop it from growing.

She had slipped from Dumbledore's control after she gave birth to Izar. As she took back control from Dumbledore, she most likely found herself being drowned by the grief and the torment of what she had done. She had been lost and broken until she found a new call of duty.

Protecting him.

She might have created a Horcrux out of sheer desperation to redeem herself and protect the child she could never have, but she had done it anyway. And after she split her soul, she was once again hardened and deaf to her feelings and emotions. Perhaps she grew ashamed for committing such a dark act that she went to Dumbledore and was once again under his control.

He shook his head softly, his anger turning into pity for the woman who bore him. "Why did you put me in front of the Veil, then? Last year, you allowed me to get close to it."

She lifted her hand on the mirrored-door, gazing at herself with passionate eyes. "That was not me who put you in front of the Veil. It was her. We are not the same person any longer, Izar, no matter how much I'd like it to be true. She will never be whole again. You'll have to ask her about her intentions."

Before he could continue, he felt an overwhelming sense of pleasure coming from Cygnus. Scrunching his brow, he concentrated and looked out into the real world. His stomach plummeted when he realized Cygnus had his eyes for Regulus and Sirius. Judging from his ancestor's cruel amusement, Izar speculated that it did not bode well for his father and uncle.

He turned back to Lily, his face cool and impassive. "I need to stay up here."

She took a step back, deeper into the Department of Mysteries. Her dress stained an onyx black as she surveyed Izar. "But the doors. We need to close out his reach—"

Cold charcoal-green eyes flashed. "I need to try to take over my body if he hurts them…" he trailed off, remembering her desperate words. "You understand my need to protect them, Lily. Don't you?"

She opened her mouth, ready to persuade him otherwise, before she thought better of it. "Yes, Izar, I do." She offered one of her rare smile, but like many of her smiles before, there was a trace of bittersweet in the folds. "I'm happy you found each other. You both deserve to have a bit of happiness, despite your dark past."

It was a far cry to what the real Lily Potter had once said. She wanted to tear Izar away from Regulus, claiming he wasn't stable enough to be a guardian. He reached for Lily, grasping her pale hand. A part of him felt sorry for himself for never knowing his mother, his _whole _mother. Briefly, he wondered what life would have been like if she had kept him, if she had raised him.

He chased that thought away. He enjoyed his life too much to wish anything different.

She nodded to him, tightening her own hand around his. "I will try to continue on sealing the rooms, Izar. Be careful."

She turned and walked away, leaving Izar standing by himself in the illusion of the Department of Mysteries. Taking control of his emotions, Izar allowed himself to sink deeply in the cold grasp of the Dark. He would be watching and waiting for his opportunity to attack.

**{Death of Today}**

"That's _not _what I was asking," Regulus hissed. "I want to know if Izar has been here yet."

Across from him, draped in the heavy cloak of an Unspeakable, Lily crossed her arms over her chest, staring at him levelly. She looked like a drowned rat in those robes, her thin stature resembling a breathing corpse. "And I said he hasn't been here, Regulus. If _you _had been listening, you may have heard me say as much."

Her dark emerald eyes jumped to Sirius mulling around in the background. Regulus stiffened at her sudden interest.

"James would like to see you again, Sirius," she started softly. "He needs you."

Regulus stepped in front of her gaze in order to direct her focus back on him. "You don't seem overly concerned or suspicious over my interest in Izar's whereabouts. One would think that a mother, no matter how cold, would be curious about her son's well-being." It was the first time he used that card against her. Though, Regulus doubted there was much love for Izar residing in Lily's body.

Her dark crimson braid fell off her shoulder as she straightened up. Her eyes were drawn, as were her lips as she regarding him. "That's because I already know what he's going through."

Regulus' eyes narrowed into slits as he stepped forward. His height dwarfed her, yet she didn't seem to be effected by him. "What do you mean you _know _what he's going through?"

She scoffed, shaking her head. "If you weren't so blind and lustful for power, you may have seen that Cygnus' Curse wasn't what it was whispered to be. Necromancy was _not _part of Cygnus' plans when he created that Curse. I know it may have been a disappointment to you when you found out it was merely possession." She called his bluff.

Regulus took a step back, fury lashing through his chest. "How can you be so… indifferent about this? Don't you see that Cygnus could take over Izar completely? My son may never come back."

Lily threw her hands down, her eyes lighting with a furious illumination. "And unlike you, I've actually done something about it!"

Throwing back a strand of dark hair, Regulus chuckled darkly. "Oh my dear, you wouldn't have a _clue _about protecting someone. What did you do? Hmm? Call Dumbledore for aid? Explain to him that the Blacks are just as—"

He was cut off by a flash of bright light. All he saw was Izar's familiar face before flying backwards. Regulus struggled for control, but knew it was in vain as he continued to descend through the air. Judging from the horrified look on Sirius' face and the dropping temperature, Regulus knew he was headed toward the Veil.

He couldn't die. Not like _this. _

It _was _rather ironic, though.

"Regulus!"


	38. Part II Chapter 6

{**Notes**} Thanks to those of you who reviewed last chapter. There will be a few mistakes in this chapter. It's late, but I wanted to post this tonight.

Those of you who hate the whole creature!Voldemort plotline will dislike the next few chapters. Just as a _**forewarning**_. The creature aspect of this story will be large for the next few chapters, after which, it will dwindle in the background once again. I intend for the plot to focus on the political scene and Izar's growing relationship with the Dark Lord (and the war).

**Chapter Six**

The scream coming from his mouth was too sudden to muffle as the little brat snuck through his mind shields. Cygnus placed a hand over his mouth, silencing the brat himself as Regulus flew toward the Veil.

Izar's horror didn't last long.

Cygnus breathed sourly as he watched the fool's body change direction at the last moment, flying into the surrounding benches. Whoever saved the idiot didn't seem to care to soften Regulus' landing as the man went down heavily. With a sharp eye, Cygnus studied his surroundings. The blood-traitor hadn't stopped his brother's descent, either had the Mudblood. So… who saved the whelp?

He looked up, trying to squint into the darkness. He used his descendant's ability of magic-sensitivity and finally became aware of the tantalizing magic coming from the shadows above. It seemed to be everywhere and no where at once, almost if the man were circling the lip of the cavity above.

Cygnus tipped back his head and laughed.

This was rich. The Dark Lord saving a worthless servant? A Dark Lord defending a man who couldn't even shield himself from a simple push of magic?

It was simply… "Classic," he pondered in amusement. "This is simply _classic_," he breathed, opening his arms wide. The eyes upon him were a delicious source of entertainment. He continued to step down the tiered benches and toward the pit of the room.

Eagerly, he watched Regulus scramble up, his wand out and ready. In fact, Sirius and the Mudblood both had wands trained on him, but like fools, they weren't casting. His steps faltered as he waited for the Dark Lord to show himself and stop his advance toward the Veil. But there was no appearance from the dirty half-blood. Even the Dark Lord wouldn't lift a wand on him!

He chuckled, catching Regulus' eye. The man's jaw was clenched and the wand leveled on Cygnus was sturdy.

"You can't stop me," Cygnus whispered gleefully. "You _know _you can't stop me."

He took a step forward, and surprisingly, Regulus was the one to take the extra step closer to him. The man looked unhinged as he leaned toward Cygnus, his eyes dilated in fury. "Don't count on that, Cygnus. I have no hesitations of hurting Izar if it meant stopping you."

"How noble," Cygnus drawled. "It impresses me that you finally realized your son is being possessed. Tell me, what made you realize it? Was it the Dark Lord? The man who was _away _during this whole… inheritance? Or was it the Black family tapestry? Either way, it's rather insulting, don't you think?" Cygnus shrugged nonchalantly and looked away from the reddening face of Regulus. "I _am _curious to know what you plan on doing to extract me from your son's body. I'm afraid Legilimency won't work."

Regulus seemed as if he wanted to keep his face expressionless at the confession, but his worry won out in the end. The man's lips thinned and his charcoal eyes looked above Cygnus' head at the opening of the cavity. Quickly, Cygnus turned, intent to see the stalking Dark Lord but shadows were the only sight that greeted him. He turned back around, chuckling. "No, not even a Master Legilimens can assist you, I'm afraid."

He then turned to look at the Mudblood. Her green eyes were leveling him with a cold stare, a stare he wouldn't likely associate with Light-sided women. It looked as if she were _smug_, not at all worried about her valuable son. But then again, maybe she _was _looking forward to Izar's destruction. From what his descendant's memories showed Cygnus, this woman was a no-show in his life. Someone who dropped him off at the Muggle orphanage.

No Black should be raised by filthy Muggles.

Turning away from her, Cygnus issued a deep purr as he eyed the Veil. He was getting restless and tired— both signs that he was now mortal and had limitations. He would need to eat, sleep, and reenergize. Already, he was feeling the strain on his body. A full out battle with these… relatives was appealing, but he knew it would only tire him out considerably before his real confrontation with the Dark Lord.

Perhaps he would leave them alive for later. He needed _some _excitement in his life, no? As long as he killed the Dark Lord today, he could handle two Blacks and a Mudblood trailing after him. And who knew? They may be useful for something in the near future.

Cygnus considered the three standing in front of him before lunging. The Mudblood moved out of the way, lowering her wand but keeping it available. Cygnus had no time to consider this as he eagerly side-stepped a nasty hex from his _father_. He crooned in excitement when he noticed Regulus' expression and stance. The man was serious and fully capable of holding his own in a battle. He almost appeared more than willing to attack the body of his son.

Perhaps Cygnus had underestimated this man.

"Good, good," Cygnus praised as he nonverbally blocked the Severing Hex from connecting with his face. "Very good."

His praise seemed to ignite a stronger reaction within Regulus. The man growled and lunged forward. If there had been foam coming from the man's mouth he would have resemble a wild beast. The Dark spells flying in Cygnus' direction were coming at him with vast velocity. He marveled at the skill before ducking and blocking the attack with his own. He didn't need to verbalize his incantations. It was elementary to him.

There was one thing he _did_ need, however. He needed to focus and draw up the power he knew Izar possessed.

After all, there _was _a reason Izar was magic-sensitive. Cygnus had made it so Izar's magic was unique enough to touch the Veil and harbor his spirit. As a consequence, he decided to tweak the carrier's magic even more to make it work in his advantage. Izar was magic-sensitive, and because of that, he also had the ability to cut off someone's core.

Cygnus had developed the ability out of selfish means. He wanted a body that had _power_, uncharacteristic power. Luckily, Izar hadn't understood that his magic-sensitivity was the key to a greater power. The boy was clueless.

But he wouldn't be for long.

He focused on Regulus' pulsating magic before he threw out his hand and reached toward his descendant. With focused determination, Cygnus concentrated on _squeezing _the man's core. The waves of Regulus' aura seemed to pulsate like a beating heart and Cygnus had the eyes to see where he could cut it off, to snuff it. As his fingers closed around the invisible core, Cygnus found the trigger in Regulus' aura and promptly _closed _the magic.

The man's attractive face contorted in horror as he dropped to his knees. His wand clattered uselessly to the floor, no longer a tool to his revenge. Cygnus stared at the scene before him with rapt fascination. It must be painful both physically and emotionally for a wizard to lose their magic. It rendered the wizard helpless and utterly vulnerable.

For a just a moment, Cygnus stepped back and admired the consequences of his gift. It truly was a beautiful sight. Tremors shook across Regulus' body and the glow around him diffused, shading him in darkness. The man appeared older than he was as heavy lines framed his expression and the usually gleam to his eyes smothered out.

While it was a moving sight, it was also amusing to him. Wizards couldn't feel their own magic until it was gone. They were so in tune with their core, so in sync with it, that it was second-nature to them. Their magic was the rhythm to their pulse, the consistency to their breaths, and the grace to their movements… the magic was everywhere. When it was taken so suddenly from them, they realized a large part of themselves was lost. They no longer had that magic that made them feel _alive _and invincible. They would need to struggle to breathe on their own and they would no longer feel that surge of tantalizing _righteousness _when their pulse beat.

The feeling of losing magic so suddenly was likely comparable to dying. They were naked, vulnerable, and would need to adjust their body to function without the aid of their magic.

This ability made him feel like a god, and yet, there were two shortcomings to Cygnus' power.

For one thing, his victims would _not _die from the loss of magic. Although it would be a struggle for them to get past their defenseless stage and learn to live without magic, it would never kill them. Though, if Cygnus really _wanted _to kill them, he could do so easily. As his victim huddled in on himself, Cygnus could raise his wand without being stopped.

Lastly, the most tragic downside of his power was that it was not _permanent. _Regulus would gain his magic back when Cygnus could no longer keep focus on the core he held control of.

Cygnus snarled at that, stepping on Regulus' wand and snapping it in half with a fanatical glee. The man on the floor quickly looked past his thick hair and onto his wand. His dim eyes were wide in repulsion and he issued a pained and horrified moan. The pathetic creature rocked himself back and forth, shaking his head in denial.

Inside his mind, Cygnus kept a careful feel for Izar's reaction. The boy was oddly silent with his emotions.

And yet…

Yes, there it was.

A flicker of fascination, of shocked awe.

_You were once the Master of Magic… now I have rightfully taken it back. _To prove his dominance over Izar, Cygnus slashed his wand through the air, knocking Regulus unconscious with an invisible blow to the head. The man went down, his skull cracking on the stone beneath him. The vivid shade of crimson life pooled beneath Regulus' head, haloing him in a picture of perfection. Izar finally reacted to his father's attack, sending a burst of Dark magic across their mind.

Cygnus considered the action before drawing Izar's burst of magic onto himself, using it to grow stronger.

"Run, Sirius," a female voice whispered behind him.

Cygnus turned just in time to see a bolt of magic fly past his nose. His hackles rose as he zeroed in on the last Black. "Yes," Cygnus breathed. "Run while you still can."

The fool had a strong shield raised around him, probably strong enough to reflect any curse that came at him. Like the idiot he was, Sirius most likely thought it could protect him from whatever Cygnus had done to his brother.

Crouched in his practiced Auror stance, Sirius gracefully came to a stop in front of his younger brother's prone form. His face was twisted in cold resolve, but Cygnus could see the doubt and reluctance behind those charcoal eyes. It appeared as if the father was more inclined to attack his son than the uncle was his nephew.

"Are you going to attack me, Uncle Sirius?" Cygnus asked in a small voice. He could feel Izar move restlessly behind his mind shield.

"Don't let him play you, Sirius. He is no longer Izar," the woman spoke up again.

Cygnus snapped his head around, hissing at her. "Silence, Mudblood."

And that snapped order seemed to be all that was needed for Sirius to attack. But Cygnus had been ready. As soon as the Binding Curse left Sirius' wand, Cygnus reached out and closed the man's aura. Just like his brother, Sirius dropped to the floor, his pale face becoming alarming shades of blue and green. Cygnus never stopped to admire. Instead, he pushed Sirius across the pit and into the benches. Without his magic, Sirius would be lucky to survive the impact. And if to prove his speculation, the sickening yet alluring sound of bones breaking echoed across the Death Chamber.

Suddenly, Cygnus reared forward, crying out as his mind buckled. His vision darkened as the intense magic of Izar engulfed him. The boy's overwhelming presence felt like fingernails scraping and desperately climbing forward for control. Even through the pain, Cygnus admired the amount of magic the boy possessed.

It was only seconds that Izar gained control. His fingers scraped his face, effectively dropping his wand to the ground. The boy was hoping to step on it as Cygnus had done with Regulus' wand, but Cygnus soon took over once again.

As soon as he could control his new body, Cygnus moved jerkily toward the Veil. He was unable to push the boy further back, and so, they were in a constant battle. This mental battle would only be stopped once he merged completely with his soul. Through hazy eyes, he looked back at the Mudblood, daring her to stop him. Disbelievingly, she was away from him, kneeling down before Sirius and checking for a pulse. It was if she dismissed the threat that was her son and chose to protect an insignificant player in this whole game.

The Dark Lord was oddly absent as well. It was if the two of them had their own agenda...

But that was impossible. This was _his _game. He knew all the rules, they did not. How dare they think they could step over him?

He reached forward, brushing his fingers against the rippling Veil. The curtain was pure silk and fluid as he clenched his fingers around it. He opened his mouth, moaning as he felt the spirit inside the Veil respond to his proximity. The icy sensation curled around his fingers and stretched up his arm and around his torso. Cygnus laughed gleefully as his spirit absorbed into his skin, in his _body_. He was alive. Finally.

Izar seemed to shy away and Cygnus paid him no consideration. It wouldn't be long until the boy was nothing, nonexistent. Though, he was surprised Izar was still able to survive. He would have to meditate in a safe place and mentally destroy the last of Izar's spirit.

Until then, he had other things to deal with.

Removing his hand from the Veil, he glanced down at his blackened hand before looking up at the Mudblood. She was hunched near the fallen figure of Sirius, eyeing Cygnus. Her stare only confirmed Cygnus' belief that she had something up her sleeve. She looked… expectant, hopeful.

He called his wand to him nonverbally and promptly pointed it at her. He would enjoy playing with her later, but now was not the time. The increased silence from the Dark Lord was affecting Cygnus more than he had imagined it would.

She suddenly stood up. If possible, her face seemed to grow paler. "That's not possible…" she whispered. She took a large step forward, reaching out to him, but Cygnus knocked her unconscious with a nonverbal _Stupefy_. He turned on her, dismissing her body. This had been far too easy. Granted, it _had _helped that his enemies were loved ones of the body he now possessed. And it had also helped that he had the ability to control magical cores.

"I know you're there," Cygnus called out boldly, turning to his next source of entertainment.

He slowly walked up the steps, feeling the Dark Lord nearby. He _could _light the end of his wand and peer around like a fool, but he enjoyed this game of cat and mouse. And the Dark Lord would doubtlessly find shadows to engulf himself with even if Cygnus did cast the _Lumos_.

It would be pathetic of him to deny that his pulse was racing. He was confident enough to acknowledge a worthy opponent. But defeating the Dark Lord would be as simple as it was with Regulus and the other two. If he could pinpoint the vulnerable area of the Dark Lord's aura, he could squeeze the man's core and enable the man magicless.

"You don't scare me." Cygnus finally made it to the top of the pit, looking around the top-level of the Death Chamber. The lockdown was still in effect, but Cygnus believed it would be minutes before it was completed.

"And _you_," the voice answered back. "Aren't worthy of my time."

Cygnus turned, feeling the magic everywhere and hearing the voice from every corner of the Chamber. While he could feel the magic, he wasn't able to detect the vulnerable spot of the Dark Lord's core. The magic needed to be at its highest; it needed to be _used _for Cygnus to spot the weakness. At the moment, it was lying down low, just waiting.

"While I must applaud you at your attempt of immortality, I'm afraid you entered the wrong body and the wrong decade. This is _my _turf. _He _is _my _turf." The words had a cruel hissing pitch to them, raising the small hairs on Cygnus' arms.

He clenched his teeth together, keeping his body poised and ready to attack when the Dark Lord lunged. He was certain, that when the half-blood attacked, it would come quickly and without warning.

Licking his lips, Cygnus smiled darkly. "Possessive, hmm?"

The dark chuckle seemed to caress the tiny hairs in his ear. Cygnus turned, his wand at the ready, but no one was near. He seethed. He had _never _been played so dismissingly before. "Do you know what your problem is, Cygnus?" the man inquired, the voice coming from his shoulder.

Cygnus didn't bother to turn. He just kept his senses open, feeling the strong aura. He focused on the thrumming pulse of the dark magic from the Dark Lord, trying to concentrate on the waves of power. As soon as he opened his senses, he was suddenly aware of the aura coming a few feet in front of him. Cygnus obviously didn't possess the same experience in his magic-sensitivity ability that Izar had, but he was slowly understanding it.

And now that he grasped hold of his ability, he could _see _the Dark Lord's aura. It was a lazy mist, appearing like crushed diamonds in the sunlight. In all ways, it was beautiful.

"No…" Cygnus murmured. He looked away from the aura, trying to be discreet about his awareness. "Enlighten me." He tightened the hold of his wand, reaching out toward the aura and searching for the vulnerable point.

"The reason you won't succeed is because you're arrogant. You're blinded by your own power and fail to see what is right in _front _of you. You see… I already know your next step. And I have planned accordingly."

Cygnus suddenly struck out, ignoring the taunting words. He quickly grabbed hold of the Dark Lord's core and smothered the magic out completely. With a delirious laugh, Cygnus threw the Dark Lord across the upper level of the Chamber with a flick of his wand. The sound of a body hitting the floor alerted Cygnus that he had gotten the upper hand.

"Your words are insignificant," Cygnus wheezed, feeling as if he were floating from his victory. He could already taste the death of the Dark Lord on his tongue.

He lightened his wand and walked forward. As he raised the bright illumination, he finally laid eyes on the Dark Lord. He took a step back in shock when he saw _what _the man turned into. Not a pathetic heap on the floor like the others had been turned into but a… a…

A creature!

He had forgotten. He had…

It slipped his awareness. He hadn't _known_! He hadn't stopped to think… and suddenly, the man's words from before made sense.

Cygnus was aware of the complexity of the Dark Lord's core now that he was faced with the truth. While he had hold over the main part of Voldemort's core, there was another section, a smaller piece of the magical core that was dedicated to the creature side of the half-blood. If he could just close _that _part of the man's core, Cygnus could likely kill the Dark Lord.

But the core was far too complex for Cygnus to grasp without losing his hold on the Dark Lord's main core.

"What _are_ you?" he breathed, eyeing the fangs and split-crimson eyes.

The unruly black hair parted as the man peered up at him. Cygnus would have declared the man a vampire if it weren't for the light brushing of black scales across the Dark Lord's neck. Vampires also had straight fangs and a waxy complexion, whereas the half-blood had porcelain features and curved fangs. Cygnus grimaced as he eyed the barely-pointed ears emerging from the head of black hair.

"Are you… are you a _hybrid_?"

Voldemort tapped his long fingernails on the ground, grinning sadistically. "Something like that, but not quite."

It didn't make sense. A hint of pointed ears? Scales? Fangs? Unless the man wasn't a hybrid but a—

Cygnus didn't get time to ponder on the Dark Lord's creature, for the man suddenly _lunged_ with speed no human could hope to track. The Dark Lord was similar to a serpent with the grace and brutality of the strike. Cygnus had no time to even lift his wand, let alone form a rational thought as he was tackled by the tall form.

Strong and possessive arms curled around his waist, causing Cygnus to attempt to pull away from the physical contact. He cried out in denial as the fangs touched his neck before sinking inside. Through the sharp and unbearable pain, Cygnus realized what the Dark Lord had planned all along. He had plannedon _killing_ Izar and rendering the boy's body undead. It would be impossible for Cygnus to inhabit a body that was lacking the correct DNA.

It had been barely a _day _that he had become mortal after decades of waiting on the other side of the Veil.

All at the hands of a pathetic _creature_. A creature! A poor excuse of a Dark Lord.

The man dropped him to the floor and Cygnus seethed, feeling the venom of the bite already make its way through his body.

If he was going to be forced from his plans of immortality, then he was going to take the boy with him.

He gazed blankly up at the observing Dark Lord, turning his mind inward.

**{****Death of T****oday}**

Izar grew stiff with disbelief and horror.

The Dark Lord _turned _him. Izar clenched his teeth, unable to conjure up any rational contemplation. The only thing that blared across his mind was that he would be immortal and stuck as a sixteen-year-old for eternity. Granted, he had grown over the summer, but he still hadn't reached his maturity.

It seemed like a proper punishment from the Dark Lord for Izar's lapse of weakness.

Suddenly, the inside of his mind seemed to darken. Izar grew wary, feeling himself become constricted and tight. Dark shadows seeped from all corners of his mind before growing into a large cloud in front of him. The cloud then fell away, revealing a man standing across from him in the forefront of his mind.

"Cygnus," Izar spoke coolly.

Cygnus, draped in all black, stared at him with a vicious gleam in his dark eyes. The man appeared around his late-thirties with long hair tied to the nape of his neck. He had a sharp jaw line, Izar noticed, especially when he was clenching it.

"You're weak," the man whispered. "You will _always _be weak. With your attachments, with your _feelings_, and petty emotions… you can't hope to be someone of importance. Ever."

Izar lifted his chin, offering the man a cold smirk. "And yet, those attachments I formed are what saved my arse. Aren't they?" He cocked his head to the side, a stray curl falling into his face. "And you, Cygnus? What have you learned is your weakness?"

Cygnus snarled. "I have no weakness."

Izar lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Exactly."

The man's eyes widened comically before he gave a cry of outrage and lunged. His body no longer took on a form; it was only a shapeless cloud of black.

Izar's pulse leaped and he struggled to gain his footing and strength. He would meet the force head on just like he had done in the basement of Grimmauld Place. Damn the consequences, he would come out of this on top. He had already embarrassed himself enough as it is. He would _never _hear the end of this from Riddle.

Only, he didn't get a chance to meet the cloud. Lily came from behind him, dressed in a short white dress. Her face was set into a cool line as she stepped in front of him. No words were spoken as she lifted her chin in the face of Cygnus' assault, her red hair waving behind her like a crimson flag.

Cygnus seemed to hesitate only out of surprise before colliding with her. Izar took a step back, watching through bemused eyes as she sacrificed herself and promptly… dissolved. Her light presence that stained his normally dark mind was nowhere to be felt.

Izar squared his shoulders, swallowing as Cygnus kept charging at him. Whatever Lily had intended to do hadn't worked. He was alone.

He braced himself, gathering his mind and magic about him. Izar had no plan of action; he didn't even know if defending himself would work.

As soon as Cygnus' cold cloud came in contact with him, the spirit let out a broken scream and scattered. Izar opened his eyes wide, watching in intrigue as Cygnus seemed to be expelled away from him. The figureless cloud scattered across his mind, hitting the closed doors that Lily had shut by herself. There was one door, however, that she hadn't closed in time. Izar lunged forward, grabbing the door and slamming it shut.

And then… Cygnus was gone.

Izar stood in his mind before collapsing to his knees.

She had planned this all.

He raked his fingers through his hair, peering around his mind. His reflection stared back at him from the mirrored-doors of the Department of Mysteries. Lily had known her sacrifice would leave Izar untouchable to Cygnus' attack. If Cygnus had attacked earlier, perhaps it could have prevented Voldemort from taking the issue into his own hands. Regrettably, it hadn't happened that way.

He remembered her words before, her whispered confession ringing loud in his ears.

"_A mother's love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible."_

Her voice seemed to echo across the emptiness of his mind. And suddenly, he felt as if he had lost something. What he had lost, he did not understand.

Izar lay slumped against the mirrored-door, knowing he had to think on the impact of her actions, but realizing now wasn't the best time. Already, his body was turning invisible and his surroundings were becoming blurred.

He finally had control of his own body.

Izar closed his eyes, only to open them and find himself on the cold, hard ground of the Death Chamber. He shivered, feeling feverish from the venom making its way through his body. He was tired of pain, of suffering. He would look forward to the days where he felt invincible again.

He gritted his teeth, catching the crimson eyes watching him.

"Welcome back, Mr. Black," Voldemort taunted.

"I hate you," Izar breathed before closing his eyes against the pain. "You _know _I didn't want to be a teenager forever."

"And yet, your plan of action seemed to be working very well," the man pointed out dryly. "You were a prisoner in your own body. Forgive me for saving your hide. Again."

Izar snapped his eyes opened, glowering at him. He decided to keep quite about Lily's use of a Horcrux until the time was right. Instead, he watched in a drugged-like state as the Dark Lord shook his head fluidly. Magic coated him like a second skin and his glamour went back in place. Undersecretary Riddle was back in action.

A hand reached out and cupped his cheek, stroking the tender skin along his neck. Izar didn't have the strength to pull away.

"My Lord?" a voice whispered.

Riddle removed his hand quickly from Izar's cheek and stood up. The Black heir turned weakly, spying Lucius Malfoy standing in the doorway. The blond had a hand curled around his left forearm, directly above his Dark Mark. Voldemort must have called Lucius through the Mark.

The man's pale eyes looked at Izar's huddled form. Lucius' eyes widened a fraction before Riddle stepped in front of him and blocked his view.

"I must take leave for a few days, Lucius," Riddle spoke crisply. "I trust you will be my eyes and ears?"

Izar curled in on himself, feeling his veins begin to burn. He wouldn't scream, he had been through far more painful things in his lifetime. Instead, Izar pulled himself up into a sitting position, listening for Lucius' response. The last thing Izar wanted to do was leave with the Dark Lord for an undisclosed amount of time, but it was to be expected if they wanted secrecy. Izar had read about creature transformations. They were painful and a long process to recover from. No one could see his transformation.

"But the Minister election will be—" Lucius tapered off. The sound of robes rustling indicated the blond bowed to his master's whims. "I understand." Lucius changed direction.

Izar felt foolish. Riddle should be here, available for when Rufus Scrimgeour was elected as the Minister. Instead, he would be looking after Izar.

"Good," Riddle drawled. "Below us, there are three unconscious figures. Make sure they see a Healer and make sure they do not _talk_. The boy's father will likely want to search for him, you will discourage him. My name and Izar's will not be mentioned in response to the events of today. They will presumably keep this to themselves, but if they do not, use any means to silence them. You may reassure them that the boy is in good health and only that. Is that clear, Lucius?"

Izar bared his teeth, throwing himself back on the ground. He wanted to crawl to the edge of the pit and look down to see the rise and fall of Sirius' and Regulus' chest. He had to make sure they were alright. But his body simply wouldn't let him do something so strenuous.

Through watery eyes, he watched as Riddle turned to look at him over his shoulder. The lights blinked back on and the distant sound of Minister Fudge's voice blared through the speakers. The lockdown was completed and Riddle would be running from the Ministry.

"Yes, Master. I understand."

"Do _not _disappoint me."

"Yes, My Lord."

Izar was blinking off, forcing his body to shut down in order to handle the pain. Somewhere, he was aware of his body being lifted with ease and laid against a thin chest. The soft cloth of his hood covered his face, throwing him in darkness.


	39. Part II Chapter 7

_Thanks_ for your reviews last chapter. Didn't get a chance to respond, but I was struggling with this chapter. Meh.

**Chapter Seven**

It felt like weeks—months— that he laid in the comfort of the silk sheets. Izar knew the Dark Lord probably didn't favor silk sheets, but decided they would be the coolest and most comfortable against Izar's fevered skin. From the quick and delirious glimpses he had given around the room, he noticed the sheets weren't just silk, but also white.

And in some distant memory, he remembered the Dark Lord expressing his enjoyment in seeing Izar in white. And now the man had the pleasure of seeing Izar vulnerable and laid out on the color.

Sick bastard.

And the man was always near. Voldemort's presence was like a flame to his murky and dim world. The closer the Dark Lord's proximity, the more the pain lessened. Though, Izar would _never _admit that to the man. The Dark Lord was already too smug for his own good.

During the brief periods Voldemort was absent, the pain was always at its highest. His blood burned, his skin seared, and his throat turned dry and scratchy. When Cygnus had possessed Izar, it had been painful, but _this _was real—not mental. As his body struggled through each tremor, he was reminded that this was for eternity, _this _pain was what was making him stay sixteen forever. And it made coping with the transformation so much more difficult.

He wished the pain was the only thing he was aware of. Except, there was more to his transformation then just pain and suffering. Through his fevered state, Izar felt oddly empty. Those hours of pain-crushing torment brought forward a terrible conclusion.

He was no longer magic-sensitive. Magic no longer tickled his skin and reassured him that everything would be just fine. It was gone, empty, and too quiet.

When Izar had realized this, he cried out in loss. His chest caved in and he had struggled to wake himself up from this nightmare. Voldemort had hovered, his hand falling like a weight on his forehead. Izar had twisted, seethed, and mentally cursed the Dark Lord for hours as he fought to turn away from the man's reach.

Magic was everything to him. _Everything_. He never took it for granted and always admired the beauty of it, even when it was of purity and not of darkness. The overwhelming realization that he could no longer feel his way around with magic came to him in form of a crushing blow. How could he judge the Dark Lord's emotions without seeing the man's aura? How could he see a worthy opponent who was really a diamond in the rough?

This realization likely set his recovery back a few days. He had thrown himself into the depths of unconsciousness and tried to resist the venom in his system. He had been suicidal then, the thought of continuing on without feeling and basking in magic made him pitifully weak.

Regrettably, the venom not only killed his body and stopped his pulse, but made him stronger—more resilient. His fever had died down and he no longer felt the hazy film around the edges of his mind. A part of him knew he would have to face the world, face _Voldemort_, but he closed his eyes against it all.

Until he felt _the_ hand.

"I know you're awake," the voice mused from above him. "Your transformation completed yesterday. Now you're just being lazy."

Lazy? _Lazy_?

Izar feigned sleep, trying to ignore the hand centered directly over his naked chest. Long nails brushed against his skin and then traveled outward toward his left arm. Warm fingers curled around Izar's forearm, surprising the latter with the temperature. The Dark Lord's touch had always been cold, undead, but now that Izar was of the same species, Voldemort's touch was now as warm as his own.

"We have _much _to talk about," Voldemort continued the one-sided conversation effortlessly. His tone was borderline angry as it was teasing. "How you managed to transform your Mark…" the hand closed painfully around his forearm and Izar was proud of himself for not flinching. "The consequences of your four month summer jaunt. That… _marvelous_ idea of getting married… which, by the way, I still find entirely amusing."

The fingernails running the length of his arm tickled like hell, but Izar kept his expression impassive in his 'sleep'.

"Of course, there are many more issues I can bring up, but I'm afraid I don't have the energy nor the patience to list them all."

Izar's chest burned with anger. The man was acting as if everything was typical and perfectly on schedule. Though, according to the man, it probably was. The Dark Lord had Izar's immortality planned for ages now. This incident with Cygnus just gave him the right to do it sooner. Little did the man know that Izar was far from happy with the arrangement. He lost his magic-sensitivity and he was damned as a sixteen-year-old forever.

Would he have to use a glamour like Riddle? The thought of wearing one for the rest of his life exhausted him.

"I know how much you hate being taken advantage of," the man persisted. "I just wonder if you secretly enjoy it. Otherwise, you wouldn't be lying here so… deliciously vulnerable." The hand took a sudden turn, slowly inching past Izar's waistline and lower… toward the junction between his hipbones.

Izar's eyes snapped open when he realized he was nude. He quickly struck out, grabbing the man's wrist in an unyielding hold before it could go any lower.

Crimson eyes widened in pleasure at the abrupt action. Quickly, as if to challenge Izar with speed, Voldemort stuck out and curled his hand around Izar's neck. With a sharp tug, the Dark Lord brought him into a sitting position. Flush against the man's thin chest, Izar could do nothing but meet the demanding lips. The kiss was just as possessive and dominating as the hold around his neck. Izar saw stars as he slammed his eyes closed, _hating_ himself entirely at that moment for enjoying the rough act.

Suddenly, Voldemort let go of Izar's neck and pushed him back down on the bed.

The man stood abruptly from the mattress, turning his back on Izar's prone form. And Izar didn't need magic-sensitivity to know the man was painfully aroused.

The Black heir glowered as he pulled the white sheets further around his body. He sat up, watching the man's back critically. "What are you?" he demanded quietly. Voldemort had his glamour down for Izar's benefit, he knew. Otherwise, Voldemort was the type of wizard who would be disgusted with his creature status.

"You mean… what are _we_?" Voldemort pondered airily as he looked at Izar over his shoulder.

Izar tightened his hold on his sheets, noticing for the first time how… normal he felt. He was still breathing, as if it were second nature to him, though, he knew he didn't need the oxygen. His eyesight was sharpened as was his hearing. And the pulse in his chest was silent, no longer banging against his ribcage. Other then those small changes, Izar felt relatively normal. There was a slight sensation of being more powerful, more invincible, but otherwise, he felt just as human as before.

He would have thought he would be hungry, lustful of blood.

But his thirst was absent. His throat was dry, but it was bearable.

What had Voldemort done? Had the man… _created _this creature? Izar wouldn't put it past the Dark Lord. The man would always strive to be the best at everything.

"What are _we_?" Izar tried again, his tone deepening into one of resentment. "Not that I had any choice in the matter."

Voldemort paid his comment no heed as he turned fully around. For the first time, Izar looked at the creature with his own eyes. The man's black dress shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the loosened cuffs around the neck and wrists. Both of the vulnerable areas had a brushing of gleaming onyx scales. Izar was certain that the scales extended underneath the shirt, but he tried not to think too long as to where the other scales resided.

The man had his mouth closed, but Izar had seen the fangs that curved Voldemort's incisors. Suddenly, as if to tease Izar, the Dark Lord licked his lips, bringing the youth's attention immediately on the forked tongue.

Blanching, Izar swiftly reached up and touched his own tongue with his abnormally long fingernails. He let out a bemused sigh as he felt a rounded tongue, not forked like the Dark Lord's.

"We're different," Izar spoke hesitantly. He felt his fangs, noticing that they were much shorter and straighter than the Dark Lord's curved ones. He then felt around his neck for a brushing of scales, but found none.

"Your wrists," the man aided.

Izar looked down, observing the very few scales on his inner wrists. They weren't black like Voldemort's, but a soft grey. He felt them, both intrigued and disgusted at the same time. The man, the sick bastard that he was, probably observed Izar's unconscious body for his changes.

He narrowed his eyes on the tall figure, tapping his nails together in contemplation. He decided he would wait to engage the Dark Lord in a verbal assault regarding his decision to change Izar in favor of finding out what he _was. _As Izar studied the man, his attention fell on the man's ears. They would be considered pointed to some, but the tips were very minimal.

Dread twisted his stomached as he shakily reached up to his own ears. And to his horror, they were far more pointed than the Dark Lord's.

Giving an uncommon hiss, he reached for the hand-held mirror lying conveniently on the nightstand. Quickly bringing it up to his inspection, he finally locked eyes with his reflection. Gone were the charcoal and green irises. And in their place, a set of green-split eyes stared back. The green irises were exceptionally pale, unnaturally so.

"I have no control over what species dominated your outer appearance," Voldemort hissed out softly. "I did, however, have control over the chemical balance of your disposition. It should be the same as my own. I am the carrier of the same venom I injected myself with those many years ago. You, on the other hand, may not carry the same venom. I will need to test your bite."

Completely ignoring the hints he was being fed, Izar could only stare at himself. "I'm a bloody _fairy,_" he seethed, throwing down the mirror and glaring heatedly at the man. "Fitting how you resemble a serpent, and I, a bloody _fairy_. I think you did have control over my appearance. You did this to spite me, didn't you?"

Voldemort looked unimpressed and only lifted an eyebrow in response.

Izar forced himself to calm his temper, realizing he sounded like a child going through a temper tantrum. If Izar looked at this rationally, he would see that he didn't appear drastically different then before. His ears were pointed, yes, his eyes may resemble a serpent, and he had fangs, but otherwise, he hadn't morphed into someone unrecognizable.

He was still the same. Only… only immortal with a few unique characteristics on his person.

"It fits you well," Voldemort continued on casually. "The size of your fangs and pointed ears are directly related to the elf or, as they like to call themselves, the Fae. They would be rather insulted if they heard you label them as _fairies._"

Izar knew this of course. He settled back down on the bed, adjusting his sheets around him in a secure cocoon. It was his shock that made him speak out in defiance. His new appearance complemented him and, if he may be so vain, made him a bit more handsome. He appeared unearthly, calm, and powerful. The tight waves on his head seemed to have become curlier and the fine lines on his face grew more aristocratic. He looked older than sixteen, yet there was an air of innocence around him.

Izar thought _that _was rather ironic. He was far from innocent; however, this deception was similar to the Fae. They were beautiful creatures on the outside and their enemies underestimated them because of it. Outwardly, they appeared serene and calm, but on the inside, they were just as cruel and sadistic as any other Dark wizard.

Voldemort was right. It _did _fit him. But it still didn't change the fact that he was immortal at sixteen and that he had lost his magic-sensitivity.

"You're a hybrid, like Cygnus believed," Izar whispered, subdue. For now. "Serpent and Fae?"

He looked up at the Dark Lord, noticing the man was watching him carefully. "A trihybrid," the man corrected, not inclined to elaborate on the type of creatures he merged together, but Izar was smart enough to guess.

Vampire, Fae, and serpent? Basilisk? All three venoms were highly toxic and lethal to experiment with. Izar knew that a few scholars had researched with one or more venoms for medical purposes. Their aim had been to aid the terminally ill and try to re-grow lost cells with the venom. The experiments hadn't gone too well and they promptly abandoned the project.

"Will you tell me why you chose a creature as means of immortality?" Izar disguised his plea in the form of an educational intrigue. He wasn't used to asking the Dark Lord for anything. "I presume you created this creature? You said you injected yourself with the venom, not that you were turned by another."

Voldemort turned his back on Izar once again and seemed to glide across the room and toward the leather armchair. With grace only a creature could possess, Voldemort sat and crossed his legs. With only silence between them, Voldemort stared at Izar. The Dark Lord's expression was impassive but the eyes were heated as they watched Izar from across the room.

The younger lifted his chin, trying to hide how much the stare affected him. It was bright in the room he sat in, yet somehow, shadows seemed to embrace the Dark Lord tightly, almost possessively. The stare was disquieting and watchful, causing knots to tighten in Izar's stomach.

Izar didn't say a word to the Dark Lord. He would let the man speak out first. He knew Voldemort was silently judging him, considering his options of telling Izar something so personal. And Izar didn't want to push him. He knew he did nothing to deserve such trust, but he felt inclined to hear Voldemort's past only because it also affected him.

"I was nearing past my prime when I realized I was running out of time in regards to my immortality," Voldemort began. He leaned back in his armchair, his eyes never leaving Izar. "The idea of a Horcrux was, in all ways, the simplest way to go about immortality. I have no qualms about killing in cold-blood and losing my emotions seemed to be a positive outcome. Emotions were for the weak."

Izar finally broke his stare from the Dark Lord and glanced down at the sheets. He was reminded vividly of Lily.

"After I came to this conclusion, I decided to create one Horcrux to begin with," Voldemort continued. Izar looked back up at the Dark Lord. The crimson stare demanded his absolute attention. "I took a temporary leave from the Ministry and traveled to South America. It was there where I decided not to go through the process of creating a Horcrux and instead, I began my research with different creature venom."

Izar raised an eyebrow. "And?" he pushed lightly. "What made you decide you didn't want to create a Horcrux?"

Voldemort's lips thinned and his fingernails drummed the leather armrest. The man offered a light shrug. "It was just a change of mind."

It was a lie. Izar had to clench his fingers around the silk sheets in order to keep his expression blank. It shouldn't have come to as a surprise to Izar that Voldemort didn't feel like opening up to him. Doubtlessly, Voldemort wasn't used to the idea of speaking to someone on an equal level. Opening up to Izar would take time and trust.

But trust would not come easily, if ever. Voldemort was a man who enjoyed taunting curious eyes by flashing his cards, but he would never show anyone his hand. Would he ever come to hold Izar in high regard?

"When I came to the conclusion that I would become immortal through means of a creature, I took a closer look at the wide range of venoms." Voldemort crossed his fingers together over his crossed knees. A disgusted curl lifted his lip as he considered Izar. "I find most creatures weak and pathetic and driven by primitive urges. If I was going to submit and become a creature for immortality, I was going to become the most _superior _creature. I would not settle for less."

Izar's lips quirked at that, but he remained silent.

"My goal was to create a creature that would be very similar to the human-mind. While the Fae have a tremendous life-span, they are not immortal, nor are Basilisks. I wanted the vampire's immortality without their bloodlust. I wanted the Fae's intelligence without their dependence for clans. I wanted the Basilisk's quick strike without their one-track mind. The largest hurdle I had to cross was trying to get the three venoms to co-exist without destroying the inhibitor."

Izar nodded, intrigued. Everything seemed to be pushed in the back of his mind in favor of learning something new. "I've read that most venom types are too dominant to co-exist with each other. How did you manage to make it right?"

Voldemort's expression softened and a true smirk settled across his lips. "Trial and error."

Izar matched his smile. "And how many lab rats died before you got it right?" Lab rats, otherwise known as human guinea pigs. It must have taken quite a few humans to experiment the venom on. Voldemort would have had to get the correct percentage of all three venoms until they could co-exist together. After which, he would have needed to adjust the level of venom in terms of how he wanted the toxin to work inside the human, which creature he wanted dominant and which dispositions he wanted to erase.

Perhaps one day the Dark Lord would allow Izar to look at his notes on the experiment. Now that Izar had… an eternity to live, he could do many of the experiments he's always imagined doing. And that included mimicking many of the experiments already recorded. Just to see if they had been done correctly and what he could do to improve on them.

The Dark Lord stood gracefully from his chair. His form-fitting black pants and shirt exaggerated his overwhelming height. "Whoever said I didn't get it right on the first try, child?"

Izar's eagerness extinguished completely, and in its place, a dark gloom settled. "Don't call me that. _Ever._"

Voldemort lifted his eyebrows in interest, likely trying to identify Izar's issue with the _pet name _he had used since they became acquaintances. It didn't take long for the mastermind to identify the issue and its source. "Ah," he breathed. "Your intrigue over my experiment with immortality has fallen prey to your anger at being frozen in time."

"Anger?" Izar whispered, his tone painfully frigid. He offered a bitter grin as his long fingernail traced the white sheets. "You have underestimated what I feel about this situation."

"Your anger is unjust," Voldemort replied just as coolly.

"Unjust?" Izar scoffed, turning to look up at the Dark Lord. He knew he was inching on dangerous grounds. "You have turned me at the age of _sixteen_! How can I ever feel confident about myself if I'm stuck in this… this pubescent body! You can't even begin to imagine my anger. It is certainly not _unjust_."

Long fingers curled underneath his chin, making certain his attention couldn't waver from the angry stare. "The only one who finds something wrong with your body is yourself. I see nothing wrong with it."

"I call your bluff," Izar snarled quickly. "If I were you, I'd certainly be embarrassed to be seen with a teenage boy for eternity."

Voldemort was silent for a long moment, his crimson eyes slowly bleeding a dark brown. The scales on his neck and wrists absorbed into his skin, as did the fangs. Long black hair disappeared into his skull and grey too premises throughout the thick hair. The last of the evidence of Riddle's creature to leave were the fingernails.

The man nicked him deeply underneath his chin before pulling away. "Then _you _have underestimated my regard to you," Voldemort replied quietly as he turned away and became Riddle. The Undersecretary flung out a hand toward an open closet. A dark cloak met his hand. "You claim you can never feel confident about yourself because of your body? I find that rather pitiful. Perhaps I should lower my regard of you to match your own self-image. Then, I'm sure, I _will _be embarrassed to be seen with you."

Izar flushed. Whether it was out of anger or embarrassment, or both, he did not know.

He watched as Riddle twirled on the cloak, fastening it beneath his chin. The man hardly spared Izar a glance as he walked toward the door of the bedroom. "I'm off to the Ministry. Britain will vote this evening for their new Minister. I expect you to stay in the house. We typically don't _need_ blood, but as you are a newborn, I would suggest sipping on the goblet in the refrigerator."

Izar sat back, feeling something ugly twist in his chest as he watched the Dark Lord leave him behind. Discarded.

Almost as if sensing his inner turmoil, Riddle paused at the door. The man looked over his shoulder at Izar. "Would you like to accompany me as Tom Riddle's political heir?"

Izar blinked, looking down at his left hand. The first thing he noticed was that his fingerless glove was absent, revealing the black Celtic ring that bound him to the man standing before him. But it wasn't what stopped him short.

Wide eyes stared at his left arm, his forearm in particular.

Gone was the scantly-clad female and in its place, the Dark Mark sat.

Rage, so sharp and hot, spread across his vision as he looked up at the Dark Lord. His body trembled with suppressed energy, surprising even himself with the intensity of it. A dry heave escaped his mouth before he took hold of the mirror on the bed and hurled it across the room at the tall figure. He screamed in anger, hating the man more than ever.

"Go to hell!"

The mirror shattered just above the Dark Lord's shoulder. Izar was expecting the man to shake his head and calmly close the door behind him. Instead, an unnatural light appeared in Riddle's expression as he stalked forward with jerky movements, yet oddly enough, they still came across as graceful—lethal.

Izar hunched his shoulders, his claws flexing defensively at the ready. From the man's expression, Izar had gone too far. And as soon as the man got within reaching distance, he lashed out, the silk sheets pooling around his hips.

Riddle caught his wrist with surprising intensity before lunging forward, flattening Izar to the bed. The man draped himself across Izar, his weight crushing. Riddle was breathing heavily, as if he had a pulse once again, but they both knew otherwise.

With a painful hold to his wrist, Riddle pushed Izar further into the mattress, his anger coming off him in tangible waves. Thrusting his face closer to Izar, Riddle breathed, "A simple glove and tattoo are _not_ what defines you!"

Izar became limp with the man's heated words. Never before had the Dark Lord spoken out of passion and anger.

"When will you let those petty objects go and start defining yourself by your actions? You're better than this, Izar. Start acting like it." Riddle pushed Izar harder into the mattress before climbing off. The man moved quickly toward the door, his anger still visible. "I want a wizard beside me who does not rely on objects to give him strength."

And then the door slammed shut, leaving Izar lying limply on the bed.

**{Death of Today}**

It took him a long while before he could move.

It took him an even longer time to bring himself to _think_.

Izar leaned his forearm against the large window in the living room, staring out into the backyard. It wasn't so much a backyard as it was an enclosed garden. Izar was surprised when he had looked around Voldemort's home. The interior was bright, most the walls were taken up by wide bay-windows that permit the sun to leak through. The home was all one-level and built in the shape of a square. In the middle of that square, a pool sat outside, surrounded by lush greenery. No flowers, but Izar didn't expect Voldemort to have any flowers.

This must have been the home Voldemort had wanted to bring him to after the Triwizard Tournament last year. By the beach, he said. It was isolated and according to Voldemort, no one knew where it was.

Izar took a sip of the goblet with his opposite hand before leaning his forehead once again against his raised forearm. Through lidded eyes, he watched the water ripple across the marble pool. Sunlight washed inside the room, soaking his hard skin up with pleasant warmth. After taking a shower, Izar had magically shrunken a pair of Voldemort's black trousers and left his torso bare. Having the sunlight bathe his body did wonders to him.

He wondered if this was a side-affect of the creature now residing in his veins. Serpents enjoyed the warmth. Vampires despised it.

Izar's lips thinned as he looked down at his goblet. Lazily, he swirled the red liquid, watching as a drop jumped from the rim and stained the wood floor at his feet. Did he feel disgusted he was drinking someone's life source?

Oddly enough, he didn't feel any disgust or regret. It soothed the itch in his throat and chest, settling him. The blood didn't control him either, he controlled it. He was more than fine with sipping it at a leisure pace. He felt no need to gulp it down and search for his next victim.

There were worse things he could have been turned into. Voldemort… had done an incredible job balancing out the creatures to his own manipulation.

Scoffing, Izar pressed his eyes into his forearm. He finally felt at peace. It had been awhile since he felt this relaxed. Even this summer, when he had been on the run with Regulus and Sirius, he had always felt… rushed, uptight, and guilty.

Standing in Voldemort's private home, Izar realized that this was an intermission to his life. His struggle for maturity, his knowledge of Cygnus' Curse, the mystery with Voldemort, the Triwizard Tournament… they were all past him now. He had matured greatly over the summer, only, things had gone too quickly since he got back from Britain to really prove to Voldemort that he _had _grown up—matured.

Cygnus' possession had made Izar appear weak and vulnerable in Voldemort's eyes.

Him turning into a creature, turning immortal, had come as a shock to Izar. And because of that, he had let his composure slip, making him appear desperate and pitiful in Voldemort's opinion. But Izar couldn't find any fault for how he had acted. It was understandable that he was upset for being sixteen forever. And it was understandable that he was irate and shocked. It was unfortunate however, that Voldemort had to be the one to witness Izar's first reaction to this mess.

Yes, he still harbored a slight grudge against Voldemort for turning him so abruptly. But then again, the Dark Lord was doing what he thought would save Izar from Cygnus. He had no idea that a part of his mother's soul was inside him, willing to sacrifice herself for him…

_No. _

He wouldn't think about Lily just yet.

Izar dropped his forearm from the window and nursed his goblet against his chin in contemplation. What Voldemort had said earlier about his glove and Mark had… affected Izar more than he had hoped it would. He had _never _seen those objects as his life-force. But now that he looked back on it, he _was _using them to define himself. He believed, because he wore a leather glove that he was his own person. He believed if he transformed the Dark Mark that he was free.

He could be both those things without having possession of the material objects. And Voldemort knew this as well.

It frightened Izar at how much Voldemort knew him. But that deep knowledge was also vice versa. There were many times Izar would claim he didn't understand the Dark Lord, but he knew more about Voldemort than many of his servants. The two of them were a lot alike.

Perhaps Izar just felt a bit overwhelmed for having such a powerful wizard romantically involved with him. Their… relationship would never be sweet, nor would it be easy. They both thrived on challenging one another and they would always be eager to point out each other's weakness.

He felt insecure at times, fearing he would never be good enough to keep Voldemort's interest. But the man's declaration today in the bedroom made Izar realize that Voldemort _was _interested in just more than his appearance.

And there was also…

Izar cocked his head to the side, squinting into the sun.

Basilisks did not have mates. Fae did not have mates. Vampire had mates, but none of the other two did.

Which meant that Voldemort _chose _that particular trait to keep in his own creature. It was positively absurd to think that Voldemort wanted a mate. That he would allow for such a weakness. But Izar was certain that the serpents and Fae did not have life-long mates like the vampires. Izar would never mention his knowledge on the subject, but it intrigued him to ponder on why a Dark Lord would want someone so close to him.

The best conclusion he could come up with, would be because Voldemort wanted someone he could trust above all the others. Perhaps not trust, but rely on to succeed in the orders he gave out. Or maybe it was more than that, and Izar just didn't want to even _think _that Voldemort wanted a companion. It wasn't incongruous, but it was unrealistic. Voldemort wanted someone close to him to challenge him, to remind him when he was slipping.

_That _was why he wanted a mate. All the other followers would be killed or tortured if they so much as breathed a word of disrespect.

But the mate pull they shared was very dull. Izar could feel it now that he was a creature. He felt more comfortable with Voldemort's presence than before, almost if the man were familiar to him. There had always been that sexual pull, but it had increased slightly since his transformation. Though, it was dull enough to resist. Easy to resist. Izar wasn't ready to allow Voldemort to dominate over him like that just yet.

He concluded that the pull was weak because Voldemort made it that way. If Voldemort's mate turned out to be someone not worthy enough, the Dark Lord could just turn his shoulder and ignore them.

It made Izar realize he had something to live up to. Voldemort thought he was worthy enough to remind him when he was slipping. And Izar wanted to be that wizard who would keep Voldemort in line, the wizard who would remind Voldemort his boundaries and his limitations. And he especially wanted to be the wizard who challenged the Dark Lord.

A sly smile stretched across Izar's lips. Yes, he could do that.

He crossed his arms over his chest when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone apparating outside the door. Voldemort was back early. Perhaps the man felt hesitant to leave Izar alone. Did the man underestimate Izar and believe he would have run from the home in a childish rage? Destroy his property?

The two still had many things to talk about, but Izar was content for now.

Relaxed in a lazy pose, Izar watched the man enter the home through the reflection on the window. He could see the Dark Lord hesitate when he saw him standing next to the window.

"I see you're still in one piece," Voldemort mused before shutting the door.

Izar hid his grin behind the goblet as he finished the rest of the blood. Licking his lips clear of the excess blood, he turned around. "No need to worry so much about me, My Lord," Izar spoke slyly. After all, he finally harbored a secret about Voldemort that the man didn't know he possessed. It felt exhilarating.

Riddle's eyes narrowed on Izar suspiciously. "What are you scheming behind those _pretty_ eyes of yours, child?"

Izar looked away, setting down the goblet on the table. Slowly, he prowled forward, knowing all to well that Voldemort's attention was on the trousers riding low on his hips. Izar stopped a few inches from Riddle, his stance relaxed. The man's eyes danced across Izar's hips and naked torso and finally to the Dark Mark that stood out painfully against his porcelain skin. A possessive light entered Riddle's eyes as he studied his Mark on Izar before finally looking up to meet his eyes.

Let him see, let him _crave_.

Izar could barely control his wicked smirk as he reached forward and laid a hand on Riddle's black-clothed attire. "I'm thinking…" Izar trailed off, stepping closer and running his fingernail along the man's strong jaw line. It clenched under his touch, thrilling Izar. "More like wondering…" he leaned closer, their lips almost brushing. "When you're going to give me those Occlumency lessons we agreed on."

With that, Izar dropped his hands and turned from the Dark Lord, a sinful smirk to his lips.

A menacing hiss followed at his heels as he escaped from the room.

Playing with the Dark Lord would always be his favorite and most dangerous pastime.

* * *

**{Notes}** A lot more Voldemort/Izar interaction next chapter. ;) They'll be talking about politics, the Death Eaters, Izar's loss of magic-sensitivity, how Voldemort saved Regulus, Izar's "marriage" to Daphne… though, that part won't be a very civil conversation. :D


	40. Part II Chapter 8

Lots and _lots _of talking, actual _civil _talking. Phew—what a peculiar occurrence. I didn't get to the Daphne Greengrass conversation (like I promised). But to make up for it, I added a… *cough* lime/lemon scene. Definitely not sex, but I'm just warning those of you now.

**Chapter Eight**

The nap he took did _wonders_ to his sore body. After escaping the Dark Lord's wrath, Izar had shut himself in the bedroom he had woken up at this morning. He didn't know if there was only one bedroom or more, but he hadn't cared as he shut and locked the door. Not that a simple lock would stop the powerful wizard from entering...

An hour nap later, Izar found himself venturing quietly out of the house and onto the tile around the pool. Barefoot, he enjoyed the rough limestone on his heels as he paced slowly back and forth. He had taken one of Voldemort's button-down shirts and rolled it up to his elbows and left a few buttons open in the front. Despite it being November, there was a warm breeze, and the sun was incredibly tepid. It probably shouldn't have been so warm, but he pinned it to his… new status.

Above, the sun was slowly sinking past the horizon, indicating that the first day of his immortal life was coming to an end. There was something else shifting in the horizon, something intangible but heavy with forewarning.

"Do you feel it, child?"

Hearing the voice so soon again made Izar's chest tighten with anticipation. During his school days at Hogwarts, his interactions with Voldemort were sparse. But then again, his interactions with Voldemort were seen as a chore and something he had to always struggle with. Now, he could genuinely say he enjoyed their conversations, even if most of them ended with the other furious.

He turned, watching as Voldemort set a plate on the small table next to the pool. Izar had smelt it earlier, of course, but he was surprised Voldemort had saved him any—let alone, carry it out here for him.

Izar turned his attention back on the sky. "I do. What is it?"

Voldemort seemed pleased at his answer. "It's the calm before the storm." He said it with such an obvious air that it made Izar think he should have known the answer beforehand. "Come eat," the man ordered lightly.

Izar tore his gaze away from the horizon and slowly inched forward. He grinned when he saw the steamed vegetables and the tender steak sitting next to the chair across from Voldemort. "Do they teach culinary skills at the Dark Lord institute?"

The Dark Lord narrowed his gaze on Izar, watching him closely as he approached the table. "I excel at everything I do," the man responded briskly, conceitedly. "If there was a house-elf rebellion, I would not go hungry like most wizards—who are dependent on others."

Despite the arrogant tone, Izar had to agree with the man's words. Voldemort _would _learn to do things himself just because it wouldn't make him dependent on others. And then again, Voldemort was raised in an orphanage, a Muggle environment. He didn't have the comfort of house-elves as most young pure-bloods have.

"I know you don't particularly find meat enjoyable," Voldemort began again, motioning Izar to sit across from him. "But it's a good source of nutrients. Your venom will digest it and store it properly." As if reading Izar's mind, the man inclined his head. "We don't _need _food, just as we don't need sleep and blood. But it gives our body the energy it requires. I want you to keep a regular diet and sleep pattern. The last thing I want is a weak and disgraceful comrade."

Izar smiled thinly at the disgusted tone before sitting across from the man's lounged form. "It's touching you care."

Voldemort gave a noise of disagreement in his throat, watching carefully as Izar took his first bite.

"There is a reception ball at the Ministry tomorrow," Voldemort began. His long fingers stroked his crystal tumbler which contained amber liquid, most likely brandy or firewhiskey. "It will be held to honor the two running competitors for the position of the Minister. I need to know if you are mentally and physically stable to attend as my political heir. There will be eyes in attendance that will be looking for any sort of weakness on your behalf."

Izar paused, looking up at the attentive crimson eyes.

"Are you up to the challenge?" Voldemort inquired softly. "You will need to remember your pure-blood etiquette and keep a firm mask on. There will also be no _arguing _with me. A political apprentice does not argue with their Master, especially in public." The Dark Lord was all serious and his words carried a warning that there would be repercussions if Izar stepped out of line. "I'm afraid we've already crossed the line of no cheek in private."

Izar schooled his features, not appearing the least bit affected by the Dark Lord's words. "I'm more than prepared," he declared unperturbedly, feeling a bit eager. Wasn't it just a few months ago when he expressed his reluctance to dance among politics? He hated politics. But there was something alluring about dancing amongst the cunning with the Dark Lord by his side. "After all, its only old men with their wands shoved up their arse."

Voldemort gave him a disproving look and Izar merely blinked up at him innocently.

"The two running mates?" Izar turned the subject around coolly. "I know Rufus Scrimgeour is the main contender and… Pius Thicknesse?" he raked his mind for the name of the second candidate he had read in the _Prophet_. "I know we want Rufus to win the election, and he most likely will with his popularity, but does Thicknesse stand any chance at succeeding?"

A cruel smile stretched Voldemort's lips. "No. Thicknesse is a weak-minded fool. Whereas Scrimgeour's methods tend to lay with brutal force, Thicknesse takes after Fudge in his peace and negotiating tactics. The population wants a strong force in office during these dark times. They were shaken by the Death Eater's involvement during the Third Task and even more uneasy with the small attacks during the summer."

Voldemort took a sip of his brandy, eyeing Izar over the rim of his cup. Izar had to marvel. It was.... what? Five minutes into their conversation and they hadn't broken out in any disagreements. It wouldn't last, he was sure, but it was nice… for now. One thing they both had in common were politics and the war. These topics would always be a safe zone.

"As soon as Rufus Scrimgeour was rumored to run for the next Minister, the Death Eater's stopped their attacks and feigned fear," Voldemort continued. "The population took notice of the Death Eater's silence in regard to Scrimgeour's rumored run for office. The weak-minded sheep will vote for Rufus just because they believe he can stop the threat of the Death Eaters."

"All according to plan," Izar finished. "And when will you make an appearance?"

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "Me? Or the Death Eaters?"

Izar stabbed his boiled potato in contemplation at the man's question. "The Dark Lord," he specified quietly. "At the moment, the public believes it's just a group of terrorists wreaking havoc across Britain. When will they begin to see that it's a Dark Lord?"

Voldemort leaned back on his patio chair, something dark dancing beneath those slit-eyes. "I plan on having an organized riot the night Rufus Scrimgeour is announced as our next Minister."

Izar set his fork down, finally realizing the meaning behind the calm behind the storm. This was it. After many years of planning on Voldemort's behalf, the world was going to change. Lord Voldemort would make an appearance shortly and Tom Riddle would step into the spotlight and slowly manipulate the minds of the wizards and witches of Britain. The man's planning was evidence of his genius mind, and something only a man without a split soul could come up with.

"A raid?" Izar tried to mask his eagerness. "Full army?"

Apparently he didn't hide his eagerness as well as he thought, for Voldemort offered an amused smile. "Yes, child. Full army. You will do well not to use your newly discovered magic-sensitivity ability during the raid. It's a useful power, but very distinguishable, unless you are certain you can kill your victim."

Izar grin darkened and he glanced down at his half-eaten plate of dinner. He wasn't hungry before, but now the sight of food made his stomach twist. "That won't be a problem." Izar slowly reached forward, curling his fingers around Voldemort's crystal tumbler.

Daring the man to deny him, Izar slid it across the table before lifting it to his lips. All the while, Voldemort watched him closely. Izar tipped the tumbler back, feeling a burn as the liquid went down his throat. Egh, it was horrible.

He set it down, masking his disgust before pushing it back across the table toward the Dark Lord. As soon as he came within distance, Voldemort's long fingers curled around his tumbler and, in turn, around Izar's fingers—holding him in place.

"You don't have your magic-sensitivity, do you?" Voldemort, the _ever _intelligent man, mused.

Izar's lips thinned. "No."

Voldemort was impassive as he stood from his chair. The Dark Lord prowled back into the house, leaving Izar blinking after him. The younger wizard sat back against his chair, pondering. He didn't _think _he gave away too much of his emotions over the loss of his magic-sensitivity. But then again, Voldemort had sharp eyes and could see past him like no one else. It was difficult to hide his bitterness. Magic had and always will be everything to him.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord returned, holding another glass tumbler. This time, the liquid inside was a deep crimson, almost burgundy.

"Here," Voldemort passed the crystal glass across the table toward Izar. "You will most likely enjoy this more than the brandy."

Izar looked down at the tumbler before looking up at the Dark Lord. "I liked the brandy," he bluffed skillfully.

Voldemort didn't bat a lash. "Liar." The Dark Lord settled back in his chair, eyeing Izar in amusement. "Cognac is incredibly potent and is usually for the more mature drinker. You should start off with wine. I think it will suit your preferences much better." A pleased light entered Voldemort eyes as he watched Izar frown at the wine. "It's better to know what liquor you prefer while you attend social gatherings. You don't want to be seen by the host shivering in abhorrence after each sip."

Pale green eyes narrowed on the Dark Lord. "I made sure I didn't reveal my distaste."

Voldemort waved a lazy hand, dismissing Izar's insulted tone. "Just try it, child. Humor me."

"I think I humor you enough as it is," Izar murmured before sipping at the wine. It was dry, but it went down his throat much easier than the brandy had. It held a sort of appeal as it warmed his mouth, enticing his taste buds before traveling to the back of his throat. He didn't even need to look at the Dark Lord to know the man wore a smug expression. "You are far too smug for your own good," Izar growled.

A chuckle was all he got in response.

They sat in a comfortable silence. Izar could hear the small waves lap against the gutter on the pool and further away, he could even hear the distant lake. He had yet to see the lake, but the air was heavy with moisture and his advanced smelling could detect the evidence of the lake's reach across the landscape.

"I don't believe your magic-sensitivity is gone," Voldemort announced bluntly.

Trying to hide his skepticism, Izar offered the Dark Lord his attention. "Cygnus," he started, memories flooding to the forefront of his mind. "Manipulated me and my genes. My magic-sensitivity was his own doing so I could touch the Veil and survive. Hell, he made it so I couldn't learn Occlumency easily." He threw that bit in there just to defend his lack of ability to learn the mind-art. "I was created for his convenience. When my body died, everything died with it, including my magic-sensitivity."

Voldemort's gaze never wavered from Izar. There were many things that would catch and hold someone's attention around the patio, but the Dark Lord didn't appear to see anything but Izar. "Your magic-sensitivity is part of your magical core. The venom killed your body, thus destroyed Cygnus' chance at a _living _vessel. It did not destroy your magical core."

Izar hesitated. He remembered, when he was a prisoner in his own mind, that he had gotten a look at Voldemort's magical core through Cygnus' eyes. It had been split into two, two very complex cores. One housed the majority of Voldemort's magic, while another one functioned as a stabilizer for his creature.

"Your magic-sensitivity is housed in a new place in your core," the Dark Lord took a sip from his brandy. "You just need to discover it once again."

It sounded logical; something Izar should have thought himself. A magical ability wouldn't be in the blood or the DNA, it would be in the magical core itself. Izar leaned forward, cradling his head with his palm as he twirled the tumbler with his forefinger and thumb. "I don't…" he cleared his throat. "The ability that Cygnus used to smother out someone's magical core, I don't think I can ever use it if I were to find my sensitivity again."

He was much more comfortable with just _feeling _and seeing the magic. Many wizards abused their magic. They took it for granted and thought it was their right to possess such a endowment. Wizards were gifted at birth to carry a part of nature, a part of the universe's power. The ability Cygnus created was abusing such power. It was cowardly and it was disgraceful.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, silently coaxing Izar to continue.

"That ability is just like casting the Killing Curse at someone's turned back. It's cowardly and spineless," Izar hissed out. He still remembered Regulus' expression as his father went to his knees, appearing lost and vulnerable. Cygnus' power had surprised Izar, even awed him to some extent, but the more he thought about it, the more he was disgusted with it.

A hand reached out to touch his cheek. "You are far too ethical, child," Voldemort breathed.

Green eyes widened before narrowing. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

The Dark Lord admired Izar's face, caressing his jaw with his fingernail. "It is," the Dark Lord breathed. "You and I have many differences. Ethics and morality is something I do not want to argue with you about. Ever."

The man's words were said in such a way that Izar could recognize the deeper meaning. Voldemort was unethical and would not allow Izar to preach to him about morals and honor. It was something he would not be swayed on. Izar was perfectly fine with that. He supported many of Voldemort's actions and philosophies; he even turned a blind eye on torture. Trying to sway a Dark Lord to calmly tap his enemy on the shoulder before he engaged in a duel was not something Izar had ever planned on doing.

Nonetheless, he scoffed when he remembered the Ministry. "You did something rather honorable the day at the Ministry," he smiled. Crimson eyes narrowed at his smile, causing it to grow wider. "You saved my father from going through the Veil. It's rather… _admirable_ on your behalf."

Voldemort hissed, removing his hand from Izar's face. "I did it as insurance, never doubt that, child."

And Izar didn't. Regulus didn't mean anything to Voldemort. The only reason the man saved Regulus from going through the Veil was because Izar looked highly upon his father. There was also the idea that Voldemort needed Regulus alive for his own plans.

He just enjoyed teasing the Dark Lord about it in order to see that _delightful_ expression on the man's face.

As if reading his mind, Voldemort cleared his expression and straightened up. Dark humor danced beneath his eyes as he studied the impish grin on Izar's lips. "Tell me about your Dark Mark," the man ordered sharply. "It is a very remarkable feat that you learned to manipulate it. I can safely express my appreciation now that it's behind us. But what I'd like to know is _how _you managed it."

Izar drained the rest of his wine, setting it down on the glass table. He avoided the man's eyes and, in turn, stared at his rolled up sleeve. The Dark Mark was the deepest shade of black Izar had ever seen it. The serpent hissed, eager at the Dark Lord's presence.

"I had a bit of help," he confessed, grinning.

He remembered the exhilaration he felt when he accomplished his goal at manipulating the Dark Mark. It didn't matter that it was now turned back to Voldemort's Mark. What mattered was Izar had _done _it, had accomplished something no one could ever hope to imagine. And what made his success even sweeter? He had done it without the Dark Lord's awareness.

"Ollivander," the Dark Lord guessed correctly. "I swore him to secrecy."

"You did," Izar recalled. "But that didn't stop me from breaking into his shop and looking at his ledger. When I discovered the Mark worked similar to the Protean Charm, I guessed that your wand core was the object that linked them all together. After I looked at Ollivander's ledger, I…" he trailed off, glancing away from the Dark Mark and up at the man. "I obtained the brother to your wand."

"You stole it?"

"It…" Izar's lips thinned. Should he tell Voldemort? He had gotten this far. If Izar backed out now, Voldemort would grow suspicious over nothing. "It called to me."

Voldemort was unreadable as he searched Izar. Finally, after what seemed like ages, the man's lips curled sadistically. "Interesting." Long fingers caressed his jaw in contemplation. "And do you have any guess as to why the wand called to you then and not when you were eleven?"

It was a question to gauge Izar's response. The Dark Lord likely knew the answer. And Izar knew the answer just as well as the Dark Lord. After all, he had months to ponder on it. "My first guess is that I hadn't met you until the summer of my fourth year. And when we met, my magic somehow altered when it came in contact with yours. It somehow recognized you as my mate." Izar paused, holding up his left hand. "My last theory is that the Celtic band had something to do with it."

"It's most likely the former," Voldemort nodded. "The Celtic band can be designed to manipulate your magic, but I used it for other means."

And they both knew what those 'other means' were.

Izar stiffened, but Voldemort continued.

"Please continue," the man invited. "I'm eager to know how you got past the ward. Your magic-sensitivity must have aided you considerably, as did the wand."

Izar offered a light shrug. "I ate the ward. The spell I invented allowed me—"

"The spell you used on Bellatrix, yes, I remember quite vividly. And you _ate _the ward…" Voldemort trailed off, his eyes raking the length of Izar with a possessive light. There was something darker, darker than possessiveness in Voldemort's gaze. It made Izar leery, yet painfully _aware _at the same time. He realized now that Voldemort was four predators rolled into one; a Dark Lord, a serpent, a Fae, and a vampire.

But then, Izar was just the same, minus one.

That thought gave him the confidence he needed to raise his eyes and meet Voldemort's hungry stare. He may not be as skilled and experienced in this game as Voldemort, but he was more than willing to try.

Voldemort sat back in his chair. The sky was darkening, spreading shadows across the Dark Lord in every place Izar wished he could have seen clearly. With his creature blood, he could see in the dark better than normally, but the man's face was still shadowed and unclear.

Izar had two options.

He could sit there and grow uncertain with Voldemort's continued stare and silent thoughts, perhaps appearing vulnerable while he was at it, or he could entice the man and lure him out from the shadows.

The latter was a dangerous move, especially when the Dark Lord was in his own mindset of playing a game. Izar felt like a mouse, running straight into the cat's exposed claws. But who said he couldn't survive that collision? He had just as much sway over Voldemort as the Dark Lord had over him.

Izar stood from his spot and walked toward the pool. He was painfully aware of the stare following him as he touched the water with his foot.

"I'm afraid there are no clothes allowed in the water, child," Voldemort's voice whispered at his back.

Izar grinned broadly, his back still turned to the Dark Lord. Voldemort had underestimated Izar. Most people were felt ashamed or exposed in their own skin. Izar, however, had never felt embarrassed about his body. He was confident with his skin and didn't have any qualms with undressing. He especially wouldn't mind stripping if Voldemort thought he would _never_.

He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the patio beside the pool. Keeping his expression schooled, Izar walked around the pool and toward the steps leading into the ocean-blue water. As he unbuttoned his trousers, he looked innocently over at the Dark Lord. With a coy smile, he dropped his pants, revealing everything.

Yes, he was playing with fire. He knew. But there was something oddly _thrilling _about enticing the Dark Lord. It gave him an adrenaline he had never experienced before.

As Izar slowly submerged in the water, he watched as the tall form unfolded itself from the patio chair. Like a dark and dangerous shadow, the Dark Lord glided soundlessly around the perimeter of the pool, his shirt dropping next to Izar's.

The move wasn't unexpected, but it still surprised Izar. Something heavy twisted his stomach as he watched the Dark Lord unbutton his trousers. Crimson eyes met green, challenging him. And then the pants dropped and Izar was afraid he made the wrong choice at teasing the Dark Lord. The man was already hard and heavy, eager to get his hands on Izar.

The younger wizard dropped his head underneath the cool water, understanding that he couldn't pull away from Voldemort now that the man had made his move to counter Izar. It would be seen as spineless if Izar jumped out of the water and into the house before Voldemort came in contact. But he could play and tease the Dark Lord. After a bit of lingering caresses, Izar could retreat from the pool, satisfied that he _could _get a rise out of the Dark Lord.

But would he be able to pull away from Voldemort when the man was set on taking what _he _wanted?

Izar broke the surface of the water, watching as the Dark Lord advanced closer before stopping mere inches from him. The first thing Izar should have taken notice of was his surroundings. It was stupid to be cornered by Voldemort, even stupider that there was no way around the man without looking like a frightened child.

Voldemort's eyes held no reassurance as he looked down his nose at Izar.

The Black heir gathered his courage, reaching out to do what he had planned on doing. Tease and play. As soon as his fingers brushed the Dark Lord's chest, a hand shot out and curled around his wrist. With surprising quickness, Izar's arm was forced backward and onto the patio behind him. The Dark Lord hovered close, a malicious grin to his lips as he breathed in Izar's scent. The man _knew _he had taken Izar's move away from him.

"I hope you weren't planning on playing my own game against me," Voldemort murmured thickly, huskily. "Because you won't succeed."

His face loomed and Izar shot out, curling his fingers harshly in the man's thick hair. He pulled, causing the man's head to rear backward and away from Izar. "Stalemate," Izar breathed passionately. He tugged the man's scalp for good measure, enjoying the pained hiss escaping from Voldemort's mouth.

Split-scarlet eyes looked gleeful at Izar's actions. It occurred to Izar that the Dark Lord grew aroused and stimulated when he could outsmart him, or… at least keep up.

"You forgot I have another hand, silly child," Voldemort hissed.

And suddenly, Izar's cock was taken by a rough hand. The boy gave a cry of pain and pleasure, drowning out Voldemort's amused laugh. He saw stars as the Dark Lord stroked him skillfully and moved his body so Izar's free arm was pushed and caged against the wall of the pool. It was an uncomfortable position on both their parts, but they only saw it as a struggle for dominance.

This was the first time Izar had ever been stimulated by another. It was pathetic, but then again, it was what Voldemort had demanded when he gave Izar the Celtic ring. The Dark Lord wanted his virginity, his inexperience. He wanted everything of Izar.

Izar kept his fingers curled in Voldemort's hair as the man continued to stroke him. His thoughts grew hazy and dizzy and Izar bit his bottom lip to keep himself grounded. There were positives to this situation. He wanted some experience before he gave himself completely to the Dark Lord. And he wanted to get used to this intoxicating feeling of having the Dark Lord this close and intimate. But even in his hazy mind, Izar knew that he probably would never get used to this.

"You think too much, Izar. Come for me and I'll let you have free reign."

Izar closed his eyes as the Dark Lord gave his balls a teasing caress.

And then he lost control.

Crying out, he came, bringing black dots to his vision. He lay limply against the wall of the pool, dropping his hold from Voldemort's hair. The Dark Lord let go of his wrist and cock, floating away from Izar with a brilliant light of smugness about him.

The younger gritted his teeth, finally gathering strength to look up at Voldemort. The man had just broken the surface of the water, slicking his hair back with his fingers. The slick-back hair brought attention to his sharp cheekbones and rustic features. The man didn't look anything like the Dark Lord then.

Izar, intent on his own revenge, swam toward the man. His advance was taken note of as Voldemort watched him, his whole persona radiating self-satisfaction.

Growling low in his throat, Izar reached out to Voldemort, curling his hands around the man's head and kissing him. Their bodies molded together under the water, both aware of Voldemort's heavy member between them, demanding its release.

Voldemort curled his hands around Izar's legs, lifting the slim limbs around his waist. And suddenly, Voldemort's cock rubbed Izar's arse, a silent promise that it belonged there—that it was _meant _to be there.

Izar broke the kiss, glaring. "You said I get free reign."

Voldemort tipped back his head, his arms strong around Izar's body as a pleased smile crossed his face. He looked carefree then, not at all like the man who grew giddy for torture and the deaths of Muggles. But there was still that sparkle of dark promises in his gaze, one that reminded Izar never to underestimate him.

The youth reached forward and caressed the man's chin. "I want to take you in my mouth," Izar breathed.

Voldemort's eyes widened in untamed pleasure before he let go of Izar and swam toward the edge of the pool. Using his forearms, the man pulled himself out of the water, a cocky grin on his face. "Then do it." Something in the man's expression warned Izar that Voldemort had something up his sleeve. It was if he were _thrilled _at Izar's suggestion because it fit his own means.

Ignoring the quiet warning, Izar curled his hand around Voldemort's knee, reaching for the aroused manhood with his opposite hand. Voldemort's cock was hard, heavy, and incredibly hot. Because they were undead, they didn't have a pulse, but they still had their blood. Reproductive organs must have been salvaged in Voldemort's manipulations, allowing them both to grow hard. He pondered if their sperm was still fertile, but pushed that thought away when he realized _now _was not the time to allow his Ravenclaw curiosity out.

He had never given head before, but because he had his own cock, he knew what would feel good and what he had imagined in his own mind.

"By the time you wrap your pretty mouth around me, I'm afraid I'll have—"

Izar cut the man off as he licked the underside of the cock. Voldemort was already so hard that Izar knew the man wouldn't last very long. The hard evidence confirmed his speculation that Voldemort grew aroused at their interactions, grew excited over the challenge Izar offered. It wasn't just sex that enticed the Dark Lord.

Keeping one hand caressing up Voldemort's thigh, Izar nibbled lightly at the cock. It was thick and long, and Izar knew he would never be able to take all of it in his mouth. No doubt Voldemort would enjoy watching Izar try to choke him down his throat.

He leaned forward, tasting the white seed leaking from the tip. It was bitter and salty, not at all delicious, but not unbearable. Izar opened his mouth wide and took Voldemort down his throat. Because he didn't need oxygen, Izar believed this was far easier than it would have been human. Though, his short fangs were difficult to maneuver as he tried to avoid scratching the Dark Lord raw. The thought of nicking the Dark Lord amused him, but he knew there would be consequences afterward.

He looked up at the man as he went down again. Izar would have thought Voldemort would have his head thrown back and his eyes shut in pleasure. Instead, the stare that met his own made a large wave of pleasure wash through him.

Voldemort was watching him domineeringly, yet looking at him as if he were fascinated with Izar. The stubborn smirk was on the man's face, a smirk that clearly meant the man thought he had won some great prize.

Izar narrowed his eyes, wrapping his tongue around the warm appendage and sliding his fang along-side the tender skin. As soon as this happened, Voldemort's balls tensed and Izar knew the man was about to ejaculate.

Without warning, the Dark Lord reached forward, curling his hand around Izar's hair and pulling him away. Bemused, Izar allowed the action. He would have thought Voldemort would have wanted to release in his mouth—as means as _dominance. _But Izar would soon find out that ejaculating in his mouth was the least dominant act.

A strong hand kept his face in place as the thick seed hit his cheeks and forehead and eventually his eyes. Izar gave a growl of anger, trying to pull away, but the hand held him firmly in place. Rope after rope of sticky fluid landed on his face, claiming him.

If felt like eternity until Voldemort had finished his orgasm, but in reality, it was only seconds. The man hissed above him, releasing his chin. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that to you, love."

Izar seethed, pushing himself under the water and angrily scrubbing at his face. It was humiliating. He had _fallen _for it. The man had planned that out to the very last detail.

Breaking the water, he bared his fangs at the man. "You're a right bastard, you hear me?"

All that answered him was a growing smirk as the man lounged contentedly against the pool's ledge. Voldemort watched him exit the pool. "You looked delicious," a dark voice whispered after him as he padded around the pool and toward the house. "So utterly and completely _mine_."

Izar grimaced at the words, turning around and eyeing the Dark Lord's back. "I hope you know you just ruined any chance of another blowjob."

Before the man could respond, Izar shut the door to the house. Despite the man's actions, Izar couldn't stop the grin from stretching his lips. It was typical. This would _always _be typical. Izar just had to stop it from happening next time. And now that he had more experience with sexual contact, he was certain he would have more confidence the next time around.

After all, he would need to extract his revenge for the stunt the man pulled tonight.

* * *

{**Notes**} I know many of you enjoy the slashiness between Voldemort and Izar. However, there will not be a lot of these scenes in the story. There are still a lot of plot points I need to get in the story before it ends and Izar is not yet ready to give himself to Voldemort.

I didn't get a chance to respond to reviews. Again. I apologize. But a fast update, no? And next chapter will contain the Ministry ball. We'll meet Scrimgeour—and a few other familiar faces will be there.


	41. Part II Chapter 9

Thanks for the reviews last chapter.

**Chapter Nine**

"What color will these be?"

"Black."

"White."

Izar's jaw tensed and he glanced at Riddle through the reflection of the mirror. Beside him, the tailor paused in his measurements, looking uncertainly between Izar and Undersecretary Riddle. The two wizards had just recently left Voldemort's private home and traveled back to Britain before arriving at this discreet tailoring shop.

Before they had left, Izar received a stern lesson from the Dark Lord. Their earlier night _activities _seemed to have been pushed behind them as Riddle had instructed Izar how to construct strong glamours. Luckily, Izar hadn't needed as many glamour spells as the Dark Lord had. His ears, teeth, scales, and fingernails were easily converted back to human. His eyes, on the other hand, were the most difficult to adapt to.

The Dark Lord claimed that optical glamours were the most complicated and most difficult to keep up. Because of that, Voldemort chose to keep his red-slit eyes when he was in his Dark Lord form. Optical glamours had the potential to cause blindness if worn too long. They also tended to flicker out if the wizard didn't have enough control of his magic or if his emotions got the best of him.

Riddle had suggested that Izar keep his eyes green, but convert the slit-pupils back to the originally sphere. Izar had turned a cold shoulder on that suggestion and had stubbornly charmed his eyes back to their original charcoal and green iris. Regulus would know the difference if he looked at his eyes. And Izar was in no mood to try to explain the cause of another change of eye color.

The thought of Regulus finding out about his creature status meant only pain and suffering on both their halves.

Izar could run faster, cease to breathe, jump higher, among many other unnatural talents. Riddle had continuously preached his opinion on the subject of Izar demonstrating these new abilities. The Dark Lord made certain Izar got it through his head that he was to remain and _act _as human as possible. If anyone where to spot a slip of his façade, if anyone were to catch sight of the creature lurking beneath, Izar was to kill them. It didn't matter who it was, the witness was to cease living.

Izar had argued that he could just _Obliviate _them, but the Dark Lord argued back that Memory Charms could be tampered with.

It made his determination to keep the glamour on his eyes stable. If Regulus were to ever become suspicious… Izar didn't know if he would choose to betray the Dark Lord's wishes and keep his father alive, or raise his wand against the man who had done nothing but protect Izar.

Regulus. Izar breathed deeply, wanting nothing but to see his father again. And Sirius. From what the Dark Lord had said, both men were doing fine. Lucius Malfoy saw to their silence and their patience of keeping still until they could see Izar again. It still didn't calm Izar's nerves on the topic of his father. Not when he vividly remembered what Regulus had suffered at the hands of Cygnus. And then there was Sirius. His uncle had been in a vulnerable state before Cygnus had struck. It was likely that his vulnerable state had hardened during Izar's four day absence—denying the Black heir a chance of bringing his uncle to the Dark side.

Izar wouldn't get a chance to see them until after the Ministry ball. He had to get new dress robes for the event and then he had to accompany the Dark Lord to his base. According to the Dark Lord's _order, _Izar was to remain living with him. They would begin his Occlumency training and the Dark Lord wanted to fine-tune his dueling skills and expand his Dark Arts knowledge. It reminded Izar of the conversation he had with the Dark Lord after his four month absence.

The man said things would change once Izar became his student.

And Izar was looking at those changes first-handedly.

A part of him, the stubborn and independent side of him, wanted to refuse the man's order of living with him at his base. But the more logical side argued that living at the Dark Lord's base in Britain would mean Izar could invent the fake Horcruxes he had planned on creating.

Horcruxes…

_Lily. _

Izar tipped back his neck, baring his teeth at the ceiling in aggravation. He would not _think _of her. He couldn't bring himself to think on the subject logically without feeling that hot emotion burn through his chest. The subject of her Horcrux was never uttered out loud. Not even to the Dark Lord.

"They will be white," Riddle ordered sharply behind Izar. The man was sitting regally on a leather and wood chair behind the tailoring podium. He hadn't glanced up from the _Prophet _he was reading, his silver glasses glittering from the sun peaking through the display window.

His arrogance and utter control made Izar seethe, yet, he controlled his irritation behind a mask of ice.

"Black," Izar argued back. He pinned the tailor with a hard stare. "I want them to be black."

The poor man. Riddle had taken Izar to a private tailor in Knockturn Alley as soon as they were in Britain once again. The owner of the shop charged a hefty price for his tailored robes, but in return, the customer received a fine quality robe and a guarantee of silence. The owner and his employees wouldn't gossip about their customers. It was part of the client-owner contract.

The man, Took Rosenthal, was a short and balding man. He had a wide forehead and from Izar's point-of-view, he could see the sweat begin to bead across his brow. Beady blue eyes shifted back and forth between Tom Riddle and Izar, appearing tentative. The man was incredibly weak-minded and greedy for gold. Izar was tempted to reach out and try to seduce, to play, but he knew Riddle would be a step ahead of him—most likely already holding control of Rosenthal's obedience.

Finally, Riddle looked up from his paper and pinned Rosenthal with a stare. "Who is paying you, Mr. Rosenthal?" It was a silky whisper; a tone that suggested to the weak-minded tailor that Riddle was very influential and could take his gold elsewhere.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Undersecretary, sir."

The watery blue eyes looked up at him and Izar gave the man a withering stare. The tailor offered a sickly smile, smothering out the material around Izar's thin frame. "May I suggest, perhaps, a color between black and white? A deep charcoal would do wonders for the young man."

Izar considered this, finding it far more preferable than _white_. Who would consider Tom Riddle's political heir to wear white? The man himself wore nothing but black and grey, and on occasion, a dark green. White. Not uncommon, but a color Izar despised only because the Dark Lord enjoyed the sight of it on him.

Riddle offered Rosenthal a heated stare, one that caused the tailor to issue a nervous laugh. "Though," Took began airily. "White would flatter him far more than any other color…"

Izar locked eyes with Riddle through the mirror, showing the man his unimpressed expression. "I have robes at Grimmauld Place," Izar began softly. "I don't see why I would need new robes if I already have a few decent pairs."

Riddle looked back down at his paper, an obvious sign that he didn't find the flow of this conversation significant. "You've grown since your last… spurt. And I would like my heir to look presentable in fitted cloaks and robes."

Izar turned back to the mirror, looking at his reflection. _Really _looking at himself. What Riddle said about his last growing spurt, Izar could see the hard evidence in front of him. His transformation into a creature seemed to have given him a few more inches, a height that brought him nearly to six feet. His tall frame was a far cry to the short frame he possessed last year. Height suited him far better than the shortness ever did. His new height made him appear as if he carried a power and a certain confidence that his old frame could never hope to possess.

His face had also matured. While his features still looked entirely too pure and innocent for his tastes, the sharp aristocratic lines and strong jaw line made him appear older than his sixteen years of age. But the most alluring feature was his eyes. Despite the glamour, Izar could see a sort of darkness lingering beneath. Shadows clung to his gaze, reminding him that he had been through more than any other wizard of his age.

The thought of being this age forever didn't seem so miserable. Yes, he would have enjoyed reaching the age of twenty, at least, but this was the body he was destined with for eternity. And he would carry it with confidence and grace.

Before Izar could try to persuade Riddle on black or green robes, the bell above the rickety door rang.

Izar turned as much as he could to see two blonds enter the shop. He refrained from looking upward in exasperation. From Riddle's reflection, it appeared as if the man were trying to do the same thing. It was too much of a coincidence to see both wizards _here _at this time of day. Lucius most likely wanted to snoop and sate his curiosity.

"Mister Malfoy," Riddle drawled in cool greeting. "Very nice to see you both again." Despite the man's obvious dislike of the company, his tone came off as a pleasant murmur.

Izar wasn't sure if he could manage the same tone. He locked eyes with Lucius before considering Draco. It seemed like ages since he had last seen the Malfoy heir. Draco looked partially the same as he had last year. The softness around his face came from his mother, as did his height. The boy seemed to have realized this himself, for he attempted to carry himself harder than he looked—a stance that screamed his father's influence even from across the room.

He was growing out his hair, Izar noticed. It brushed past his shoulders in loose locks, appearing like spun silk. Izar always admired blond hair. They seemed to be a species in their own right.

"A pleasure Undersecretary Riddle, Mr. Black," Lucius gave a smooth bow, his eyes tracing Izar's form as if to look for signs of the vulnerable boy he saw on the Ministry floor a few days earlier. "Draco is here to get new robes for the Ministry ball tonight."

Izar kept his gaze on Draco, desiring the boy's attention. Though, with Draco's dumbstruck expression leveled on Izar, he didn't have to worry about catching the boy's attention. A sharp rap from Lucius' cane knocked the blond out of his awed stare.

"You're attending?" Izar questioned, keeping his voice light and the smugness out. "Did Dumbledore give you special leave from Hogwarts?"

Draco blinked, clearing his throat and avoiding his father's disproved stare. "Yes," Draco spoke crisply. "He has given the students reprieve for the weekend. In his words, the political election is a good learning opportunity. Most of the Slytherins will be attending." Draco's eyes stared at an area above Izar's shoulder. "A few of your old Ravenclaw classmates, as well, I believe."

Izar was sure _any_ student who had connections to the Ministry would try to attend. The Gryffindors would be just as thrilled to go. In all likelihood, the Gryffindors would look up to Rufus Scrimgeour as a commanding role model. Izar had never met the man himself, but the rumors stated Rufus was a force to be reckoned with. Voldemort even considered Rufus as a worthy opponent.

Silence seemed to stretch between the occupants after the tailor reassured Lucius that he would be tending to Draco after Izar.

Izar stood as proudly as possible as he was draped with a beautiful white robe. The tailor danced around him, pinning loose ends and adjusting the long cuffs and sloppy collar. The robes he was purchasing resembled more of a cloak than anything, though they had sleeves. Underneath, Izar would be wearing black tailored pants and a simple black dress shirt that would be mostly covered by the white cloak. He preferred cloaks more than robes, as did the Dark Lord.

"Hood?" Took asked breathlessly as tinkered around with Izar's collar.

Riddle never looked up from his _Prophet_. "High collar," the Undersecretary responded briskly, as if annoyed with the unnecessary interruption.

"How is Professor Snape fairing?" Izar broke the silence, his eyes pinning Draco's gaze in the mirror.

The blond tried to avert his eyes quickly, anxious that he had been caught staring. With a pure-blood air about him, Draco straightened up and replied stuffily. "He's doing as well as he can be… considering his circumstances," he murmured.

Izar allowed a fond smile to cross his lips as he thought of his old professor. There would always be a soft spot Izar would harbor for the snarky bastard. The man had a sharp wit and an even sharper mind. Snape didn't allow his emotions to get in the way of his actions, and was all for himself. Though, Izar had suspicion that Snape was just as enamored with Regulus as Regulus was with him. The two were just too stubborn to take the next step of forgiveness and redemption for their past actions.

"I see you have recovered, Mr. Black," Lucius' sly voice cut through the atmosphere with an audible hiss.

"I have," Izar responded curtly, not inclined to expand unless the man asked.

In the mirror, he watched as Draco shifted again. Izar wasn't empathetic, but he had reason to believe that Draco felt uncomfortable with Izar's new appearance and attitude. It must have been a surprise for Draco to see Izar so suddenly, so caught off guard with the changes. The blond remembered Izar as a short wizard who felt uncomfortable under attention and scrutiny. Because of that, Draco had underestimated Izar and thought he could be the wizard calling the shots in their 'relationship'.

Now that Izar's body and mannerisms had grown into his personality, they were both aware who, exactly, held the upper-hand.

Izar _had _warned Draco last year at Christmas that he wasn't safe for a relationship.

And now Draco was struggling with wounded pride while he schemed up ways to gain a sense of control again. Izar would need to speak with the blond shortly. He would not _stand _for this pathetic shifty behavior; it made them appear both guilty of something that never happened.

"May I inquire—"

"You may inquire what happened, Mr. Malfoy, however, this isn't the time nor the place to discuss what transpired," Izar cut off Lucius. "I would like to discuss this with Narcissa, Draco, and my family."

Most likely Bellatrix as well, but Izar wasn't sure if she would be having children anytime soon. He hoped to Merlin that she wouldn't consider having a child. But they would need to be told of the dangers of conceiving a child of the Black line, and encouraged to adopt, but Izar wouldn't exert himself past a heavy warning. It wasn't his business if they decided to ignore his advice. Pure-bloods were rather stiff about adopting children and not conceiving them.

Lucius' eyebrows rose. "It has to do with the Blacks, no? I heard rumors that Cygnus—"

"Not here, Lucius," Riddle spoke out sharply.

Lucius settled down, but his expression betrayed his excitement at the upcoming events.

Izar had to recognize Lucius' excitement, for he felt just as anxious. Only, Izar was looking forward to the war and the political battle with Rufus Scrimgeour.

**{Death of Today}**

It was ridiculous.

Izar thought Ministry balls were ridiculous at the age of fourteen and his opinion hadn't changed since then. They were overdone with glimmer and decorations, making it appear as if they were in the company of royals. They weren't. They were in the company of leech-like men and women who crowded near the most influential wizard as if they could absorb their power.

Tom Riddle was a charmer, a seducer, and _constantly _surrounded by men and women. And because Riddle was surrounded, meant Izar was surrounded.

The constant company was wearing thin on Izar. He had shaken hands with more than four dozen men and women already, every _one _of them attempting to squeeze the bones in his hands as if that established they were more important than him. Izar had offered a breathtaking smile to each of the old bastards and continued to stand proudly next to Riddle. He wondered if he looked as bored as he felt. Riddle didn't appear bored, in fact, he looked positively _thrilled _to be surrounded.

Izar knew he would get better with this… political dance. Tonight, he was just here to be introduced as Riddle's heir. His opinion wasn't warranted and no one asked for it. When he grew more of a reputation, he would be free to talk sweetly with the others. Until then, he could amuse himself with studying the politics, sizing up their weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Most of their names were jumbled up in his head, no significance to him besides the ones that appeared half-way decent.

Whenever Izar had made a move to go to the refreshment table, Riddle's hand always weighed his shoulder down possessively, keeping him at his side. He felt like he was on a bloody _leash_.

Again, Izar was reminded that he wasn't a politician. He was similar to Bellatrix. They both enjoyed action more than they did sugar-coated words. Izar would give anything to be in a lab, experimenting and tinkering with magic and spells. But he knew he would have to adapt to this scene. Tom Riddle would soon become a force in the wizarding world and Izar was expected to be just as sharp.

Despite his reluctance with politics, he _was _eager to see how Riddle would play Rufus Scrimgeour. The public simply adored Rufus and put their trust in the man to keep them safe. When the Death Eaters would strike, they would strike hard, leaving Rufus struggling to keep up and keep the population safe. And behind the scenes, Riddle would be slowly manipulating the wizarding world to his liking.

It was truly ingenious. And Izar couldn't wait until the full raid the day Rufus Scrimgeour was announced as Minister. Just thinking about it made him anxious and itchy… to restless to stay _here_.

"…the pact with France cannot be allowed to pass. For decades, they have wanted to control Britain. If this pact passes, we may find ourselves under their thumbs."

Riddle nodded at the passionate man, his expression clearly intrigued and interested in the man's opinion, but both Voldemort and Izar knew otherwise. Izar wondered if _this _was why the Dark Lord Voldemort was so impatient and lacked mercy. He was merely taking out his frustrations in his Dark Lord persona that he couldn't while he was Tom Riddle.

"Excuse me," Izar spoke up before Riddle could respond.

Multiple pairs of eyes turned in his direction, both intrigued and frustrated at his interruption. Riddle calmly turned to him, his eyebrows raised in question. Izar met the stare smugly. "I'm going to get something to drink. Forgive my interruption."

Riddle smiled warmly, but Izar knew the man well enough to see the dangerous sparkle hiding beneath. "I'm sure one of the waiters would be _happy _to fetch you a drink, Izar."

And if to prove his point, one of the wizards in Riddle's posse flagged down a wandering waiter. The stiff-looking waiter appeared with a glass of champagne balanced on his tray. It wasn't long before the glass was passed hand to hand and finally made it in Izar's possession. The Black heir stared at the glass before offering a wide smile. "Thank you."

Inside, he was seething as Riddle turned back around and continued the conversation.

Over the tops of the politicians' heads, Izar surveyed the room. It was expansive with a dance floor in the middle and plenty of room around the edges to mingle and engage in conversation. The band was a distant beat, a smooth melody that seemed more for conversational background music than for the dancers currently swinging around on the floor.

In one of the corners, most of the younger occupants stood. The whole hall was ranked in hierocracy. The older and esteemed politics were in the back of the hall while the inexperienced and younger occupants stood near the double-doors. Izar knew most of the occupants who stood near the exit, Theodore Nott among them. Further along, near the buffet table, a large man stood with wild orange hair and broad shoulders.

Owen Welder.

Izar's lips curled into a simple smile as he recognized his Unspeakable boss. The last time he'd seen Owen was last summer before he went to Hogwarts for his last year. Izar needed to speak with the man personally. He had to make certain he still held a position in the Unspeakable department. It didn't matter if Voldemort didn't want Izar to continue on his occupation as an Unspeakable, because the Black heir would ignore such an order. Inventing, experimenting… it was what he enjoyed and _that _was something the Dark Lord would never be able to take away.

The Dark Lord and Izar had yet to talk about his Unspeakable position, but the younger knew the topic would be brought up eventually.

Izar rolled back on his heels, eyeing Owen before examining the group around Riddle. They were holding onto his every last word, drool would likely come from their lips if they weren't so proud.

Lifting the glass of champagne to his lips, Izar skillfully pivoted around Riddle and disappeared into a passing group of witches. They giggled at his sudden appearance, their lashes fluttering at him in hopes he would take notice of them. "Hello ladies," he purred playfully. He grinned when a few of them struggled to take position next to him. If he remembered correctly, he identified a few of them as old Hogwarts students.

"Izar, is it?" One of the brunettes asked. "You were in Ravenclaw, weren't you?"

Too many questions when he wasn't in the mood... "I am, I was," he answered curtly. A few of them laughed despite the fact he hadn't meant to be witty about it. He disguised his displeasure behind another charming smile. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

And just as stealthily as he escaped Riddle, he made an abrupt turn from the group of females and deposited his glass of champagne on one of the tables. His escape from Riddle wouldn't be looked highly upon, he knew. But he had his own agenda tonight, and that was to secure his position with the Unspeakables. Hearing more of the dry opinions from the politics in Riddle's circle would have driven Izar insane.

Smiling, he made his way across the hall and toward Owen Welder. Now that he was free of the posse, he could see that there were far more people in attendance than he originally thought. In particular, he could see Regulus a few meters away from him. Izar hesitated, watching as his father spoke to an older woman. Regulus appeared in good health as he dressed smartly in a rich, navy blue.

The man's charcoal eyes took that moment to land on Izar. A smile curled the goateed-lips and Regulus leaned forward and placed a hand on the woman's arm, likely excusing himself. Izar stood calmly, eager to speak to his father again. Now likely wasn't the time to speak about what occurred, but Izar couldn't resist.

As Regulus moved forward, a hand curled around Izar's forearm, pulling his attention away from his approaching father. The eyes that met him weren't the ones Izar was hoping to see tonight.

"Izar," Lily breathed. "Would you like to dance?"

Her frail and pale body was dressed in a beautiful crimson gown. It reminded Izar vividly of the gown he had seen in his mind, worn by _her_. Her thick mane of auburn hair was piled in loose curls at the nape of neck. Over her head, Izar could see James Potter floating uselessly, watching the exchange through round-rimmed glasses.

He didn't want to take her hand. He didn't want to dance with her. He didn't want to _see _or _hear _her.

Yet he took her arm anyway.

Throwing his father a pointed look, one that clearly stated to remain calm and patient, Izar led her toward the dance floor. He kept his own expression schooled as he placed a hand on her waist and curled his opposite hand around her small one. Being this close to her when he was having trouble accepting what happened wasn't a good thing. Izar hadn't come to terms with what she had sacrificed or how he felt about it.

But she wanted to speak to him. That was the only reason she would have approached him and asked him to dance.

"Why did you do it?" he asked simply as they danced mindlessly.

Izar looked at her, almost obsessively. He wanted to see a trace of the woman who caressed his cheek, the woman who had stepped in front of Cygnus' attack and scarified herself for him. All that met his stare were dead eyes, eyes that held evidence of the torn soul encased inside her body. She was a walking corpse with hardly any emotion, if _any _at all.

Almost if sensing his hope, Lily offered a small smile. "We aren't the same person, Izar." She side-stepped his weightless question.

"I know that," Izar responded spitefully. He was a fool for even looking for that mother he had harbored inside his mind. "Does Dumbledore know? Does James Potter?"

Lily turned her head in the direction of her husband. "No. Neither of them knows, though I'm sure Dumbledore suspects something. He's a Light Lord after all. Such darkness stains a soul." She looked back up at him, a bitter smile across her lips. "I know you don't owe me anything, Izar."

Izar's jaw clenched. "I'm so glad you've come to that realization," he drawled. "If anything, I would consider each other even." That's as good as it would ever get between them. Something dark and greasy stained his belly as he realized that this woman would never be a mother, would never possess the necessary emotions to live properly. Her mind only saw a duty to destroy darkness, to redeem the dark act she had committed with the Horcrux.

Izar wondered how James Potter could stay with her. Did she feign love? Concern? Guilt? Had she put on a show the day after the Second Task? She said she still felt guilt for what she did to Izar, but did she really? Or was it simply means as getting an advantage over the Dark side?

Or was there real emotion behind those broken eyes? Izar didn't know the extent of a torn soul, but he knew it had destroyed the woman that was once Lily Evans.

She bowed her head briefly, the light catching the silky strands of auburn hair. "Despite everything, I'd like to ask something from you," she whispered, glancing back up at him. "I would like to ask you to keep my… Horcrux a secret."

Izar raised his eyebrows at the request. Was it her pride or honor that would be damaged if word got out to Dumbledore and James? It was possible. Izar could think of nothing else as to why Lily wanted to keep her torn soul a secret. "And how would you like me to explain my defeat of Cygnus?"

Lily cocked her head to the side, studying him closely. "Judging from your question, you haven't told Regulus yet. What story did you use to tell him?"

Izar kept his face stoic, yet his mind raced. He was a fool. Of course he shouldn't have asked that. Lily wouldn't have known that Izar had been absent from Britain for four days. It _was _rather ironic that he had to cover up both the Dark Lord's help and Lily's aid. Both the Dark Lord and Lily were oblivious to each other's attempt to save Izar's life. Both of their 'attempts' had saved him and revealed a secret the two didn't want to be let out into the public.

"Occlumency," Izar replied shortly. "I just wanted to see what you would have suggested."

Her green gaze studied his impassive face before she offered a tense nod. "I would have suggested the same." She gave no inclination that her suspicion was still present. Instead, she tightened her hold on Izar's hand. "Will you keep this as a secret between you and I?"

It seemed as if this were important to her. Showing such a weakness like that cost her and Izar quickly preyed on it.

"I'll keep it between us if you drop the custody battle," he challenged softly as he spun them around the dance floor with grace only a creature could possess. The surprise flickering across her face was delicious to him. "Why so surprised? We both want something; we might as well take it."

Lily considered quietly, her expression as blank as her eyes. "No," she replied, startling him with the answer. "I can't do that, I can't, Izar."

Breathing fiercely through his nostrils, he might have crushed her hand in his hold. "Why not?" he demanded quietly, mindful of their surroundings. "I'm nearly seventeen, completely independent. I don't _need _a mother, or a father, for that matter. I just choose to stay with Regulus because I enjoy his company. The whole battle will just be a waste of your time. So why do it?"

"I'm trying to protect you. It's obvious that the Dark Lord is moving and he's using _you_. He's manipulated you since you were a child."

Izar narrowed his eyes in mock thought. "It sounds to me like you're using me again for your Light side."

Something shifted beneath her eyes as she leveled him with a cold stare. "I want custody over you in order to protect you. I wouldn't even care if you participated in the war or not. You're being manipulated by the Dark Lord, don't you see? He can see all your insecurities, all your desires, and he's using you to get what he wants."

His lips thinned. He'd already thought about the possibility of Voldemort using him and setting this whole _relationship _up to his own advantage. But what would the Dark Lord gain from that? Nothing. The Dark Lord wasn't manipulating Izar anymore than Izar was manipulating him. They enjoyed power plays at times, maybe a bit of deceit here and there, but the Dark Lord was not controlling Izar's strings.

"I suppose that's a _no_ to our little arrangement?" Izar turned the conversation around, just as he turned Lily around in a spin.

"Izar, I can't agree to that."

"If you truly wanted redemption, forgiveness, you would drop the custody battle," Izar whispered. Before he could persist, a light tap interrupted him. He turned, his hand still holding his mother's, only to see another pair of green eyes looking up at him.

"Do you mind if I cut in?" Daphne smiled sweetly at Lily.

Lily gave Izar a searching look before nodding sharply and walking stiffly from the dance floor. Izar watched her go before turning to Daphne. He was reluctant to dance again, his original intention to speak with Owen still dangling above his head. Nonetheless, Daphne looked expectant and Izar hadn't spoken to her in what seemed like ages.

She was as beautiful as ever. Her pride and nobility making her glow as bright as the gold gown she wore. She offered him a lopsided smile. "I see you finally grew those few inches you always claimed you would have," she teased.

"And I see you've lost a few inches," he retorted, motioning to her hair.

In her early years, Daphne always wore her hair down her back. With the start of her Fourth year, the length of her hair seemed to shorten after each summer. Presently, it was cut in a short bob, the strands curled loosely and pinned with thin diamond pins. She flashed him a smug smile, patting her hair with a gloved hand. "Do you like it? I'm sure the witches will be sporting the same haircut within a few days after this function."

"I'm sure they'll be embracing their scissors," Izar agreed, reaching out to her and placing his hands in a formal position.

She seemed to move far better than Lily could ever hope to. Daphne always had a pixie-like stature, but her grace made her appear taller than she was. "You truly do look handsome, Izar," she smiled. "It's been a long time since I've seen you."

Izar offered her a grim smile. "In a year, you'll be done with school." He didn't know why he said it, why he brought it up. They both knew that Daphne was to be engaged by the end of her Hogwarts years.

"It can't go any faster," she breathed warily. With wide strides, she kept up with Izar's lead, never once faltering despite her short legs. Surprisingly, she didn't bring up the arranged marriage like Izar thought she would. "I was about to leave here tonight until I saw your mother holding you captive. You didn't look too pleased, I thought I would save you."

And his image.

Izar was reminded of Riddle's comment last night. The man had said there would be politicians here who would look for his weaknesses. Dancing with Lily hadn't been his smartest decision; he hadn't been ready to face her yet. But he had wanted conformation. Of what, Izar still wasn't sure.

"I'm forever in your debt," Izar replied dryly.

They lapsed into a silence, both likely thinking of the same thing. Izar gave a lipless smile, wondering why he was holding back from bringing up the topic of an arranged marriage. He didn't think romantically of Daphne. Their relationship was platonic, as it would always be. Voldemort had nothing to be uptight about. The arrangement would be ideal to cover up Izar's real _bond_ with the Dark Lord, with Undersecretary Riddle, but the man wouldn't see it as such.

The orchestra's melody came to a close and Izar skillfully bowed at his waist, kissing her knuckles. She smiled brightly as he escorted her from the dance floor. "You'll owl me," it wasn't a question, it was a demand. Izar expected nothing less from Daphne.

"I will," Izar assured her. "Keep your head grounded for the rest of the school year," he warned lightly.

He wasn't at Hogwarts anymore to pull Daphne away from her current issue of _Witch Weekly _to focus on her school work. She would be too proud and stubborn to ask for help with her homework, something she was even hesitant to ask Izar for. He just hoped she could pass with decent grades. Despite her family's riches, Izar could see Daphne growing bored with the lack of challenge. She would eventually get a job.

She nodded smartly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before turning to leave. Izar didn't stand solitary for long as he watched her leave. One lone thought haunted him as she swept from the hall—she was maturing. She hadn't asked after the arranged marriage or even mentioned it. The children he had grown up with at Hogwarts had disgusted Izar with their immaturity.

But now, he was the one standing still while the rest of the students flourished and grew. It would be for an eternity that he would watch his classmates like Daphne and Draco age and wrinkle—and _their _children age—all the while, he would be stuck as a sixteen-year-old. He would be a solitary bystander while the rest of the world spun crazily around him. Time was frozen for him. It would always be frozen.

Izar pushed the self-pitying thoughts in the back of his mind as he searched for Owen. It would do no good to dwell on his immortality. Voldemort would look down upon him if the man discovered his true feelings on the matter. In any case, experiences and hard-learned lessons were what matured an individual—not the wrinkles and grey hair. He could be sixteen forever, but his accomplishments and experiences were what would _really _define his age.

Gracefully, Izar glided across the polished floors and toward the buffet table. Owen hadn't moved from his position near the finger sandwiches. After all, the Head Unspeakable hadn't grown his large belly by doing nothing.

"Mr. Welder," Izar greeted coolly.

The large back turned and Izar realized that he wasn't alone at the buffet table. His company turned and locked eyes with Izar.

The first thing Izar felt was a spark of his magic-sensitivity coming back. It was a small flame that was dosed quickly, but he had felt it as clear as it had been before the accident. The second thing he thought of when he looked at the man across from him was that he was everything a Gryffindor _should _be. Brutal, intelligent, brash, and a predator. Izar found himself allured by those sharp yellow eyes staring back at him.

"Ah, Izar," Owen grumbled in greeting. "I'd like for you to meet Rufus Scrimgeour, our leading candidate for the next Minister of Magic."

Izar hadn't needed the introduction. Rufus carried himself proudly and with a confidence many found difficult to find within themselves. He was battle weary with faint scars marking his face and drawing attention to the clever eyes.

This was a man Izar could see as a worthy opponent, one he was eager to test the limits of.

Rufus returned Izar's scrutiny just as carefully. "Izar Black," Rufus murmured, his voice resembling a proud lion. "I've heard much about you."

The ex-Auror held out a calloused hand. A smile Izar hoped wasn't too sadistic stretched across his lips as he shook the man's hand.

Now _this _Izar would enjoy.


	42. Part II Chapter 10

{**Notes**} I really liked this chapter for some reason. *shrug* Perhaps because I was inspired by a wonderful person named, rh34. She drew me a fantastic picture of Izar. If you'd like to see it, there is a link on my profile.

A special thanks to those of you who reviewed. It means a lot to me and I always enjoy knowing what you like and dislike about the story ;)

**Chapter Ten**

Izar hadn't been this interested in an individual for what seemed like ages. His first interest had been Minerva McGonagall as she sat on the edge of his bed, explaining the wizarding world to him. After that, he didn't know if Snape or Dumbledore came next, but both were fascinating specimens in his eyes. And of course,Voldemort had been Izar's last and most recent interest.

He had a feeling Rufus Scrimgeour would take a special place in Izar's radar.

The hand grasping his own hand was strong, sure, and the Minister patted Izar's bicep with his opposite hand. Mutual interest passed between them with a heated stare, Izar out of sadistic glee at having a worthy opponent and Rufus out of true intrigue and suspicion.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Scrimgeour."

Rufus gave a smile full of ragged teeth. "The pleasure is all mine," the man insisted as he dropped Izar's hand and took a step back to survey him properly. "You've grown since the last time I've seen you." Next to him, the forgotten Owen nodded in agreement.

Izar lifted his eyebrows in mock consideration. "Last time, sir?" He couldn't remember ever meeting the man personally. Izar would _remember _meeting Rufus Scrimgeour.

He hated that the rumors were, indeed, true about this notorious ex-Auror. Izar wasn't favored to sharing the same opinion as the rest of the public, but when an impressive wizard carried _this _air about him, he was likely to get notice.

Rufus offered a deep chuckle, his attention never wavering away from Izar.

Oh yes, Izar enjoyed this. But how much did Rufus know? Was he on good terms with Albus Dumbledore? Did Rufus know about the Order of the Phoenix, the Death Eaters true motives, the Dark Lord? Was the ex-Auror able to identify that Tom Riddle had his own sly plans beneath those fake brown eyes and sparkling cheater glasses?

Rufus Scrimgeour was a blank canvas for Izar. He would be looking forward to painting it.

"I attended the Triwizard Tournament last year, each one of the Tasks."

Izar could almost feel his small smile sour at the man's statement. The Triwizard Tournament and the Tasks weren't his best show of power. But then again, it was always a decent idea to make his enemies underestimate him. As if sensing his train of thought, Rufus gave a pleased growl in his throat, clenching his teeth in a way that resembled an amused lion. The man's mannerisms mimicked the Gryffindor mascot to a tee. On the outside, he was graceful with both cautious and vigilant movements. But Izar knew, on the inside, beneath the skin, Rufus was longing to lunge with a brutal strike.

The lion, in all ways, was similar to the serpent. They both watched their prey, tasted their prey, before going in for the strike. And that strike would be quick and precise, a lethal blow. But there were also differences between the two species. The lion was arrogant, tempered. He would underestimate most of his prey because he was the king of his species. The serpent, on the other hand, grew defensive and frightened of the proximity of a greater threat. It would likely strike out of desperation in order to defend itself.

Rather interesting that Voldemort resembled the inner lion more than the serpent. Though, he had both qualities. He was favor of striking, but the lion's overconfidence was something that blinded him. Arrogance wasn't a characteristic of the creature-species Voldemort created. No, it was just inbred in Tom Riddle as a child, and that was one of Voldemort's faults.

Izar pondered what species Rufus resembled on the inside. The outside was all lion, yes, but was there a serpent on the inside, desperate to strike?

"You did a job well done," Rufus continued, as if to calm Izar. "You were fifteen, correct?" His yellow eyes glanced at Owen for conformation. With a nod in return, Rufus turned back around. "You were pressured into the Tournament. For being so unprepared, you did remarkable." Rufus paused briefly before continuing just as quickly. "Owen tells me you have a knack for inventing things, a true prodigy, its no wonder Undersecretary Riddle scooped you up so fast as his political heir."

As the man said this, his eyes rose a few inches above Izar's head.

Izar felt a bit disappointed that Riddle found him so quickly. He wanted to analyze Rufus a bit longer by himself, but it didn't surprise him that Riddle had zeroed in on his location. The man had probably watched him closely as he danced with Lily and Daphne.

A hand fell on his shoulder, tightening painfully as Riddle took position next to him. "Mr. Scrimgeour," Riddle droned in greeting. "I see you've already met my heir."

The two shook hands, Riddle never removing his left hand from Izar's shoulder. The Black heir watched the exchange between the two powerful politics and couldn't help but to notice the strained smiles and the tightening around their eyes. They hated each other. Only, the two would never admit it out loud.

Riddle seemed more amused than irritated whereas Rufus seemed to grind his teeth in impatience and a desire to attack.

So, how much did the man know? Was this a simple dislike between the two, or did Scrimgeour know that Tom Riddle was, in fact, a rising Dark Lord? Izar believed it was the earlier. The man likely _felt _that something was off. He was using his intuition to tell him if he should trust or distrust Tom Riddle. If Scrimgeour knew Riddle was the man behind the Death Eaters, Izar believed Rufus wouldn't allow Riddle to stay in office. After all, the Minister of Magic had some power over the Undersecretary.

Rufus smiled thinly, watching as Riddle and Welder shook hands. The Head Unspeakable seemed smitten with Riddle as he gushed out a warm greeting.

"I have," Scrimgeour responded briskly to Riddle's inquisition. "In fact, Owen and I were just discussing Mr. Black and the rest of the Unspeakables." Izar raised his eyebrows in curiosity, but Rufus continued smoothly. "I know Cornelius wanted to turn a blind eye to the Unspeakables' work. He's allowed a considerable amount of free reign over their experiments. If I am elected into office, I would like a firm hand in the operations and knowledge of findings."

Izar looked discreetly at Owen Welder to gauge the man's expression. Just as Izar thought, Owen was trying to hide his distaste for such a spectacle. Unspeakables were confidential employees and enjoyed keeping their work _private_. They worked with objects and artifacts that most average wizards and witches would find complicated to comprehend. Work limits would mean disaster.

Looking down to stow away his aversion, Izar looked back up with a crooked grin on his face. "Do you believe there is some unethical research being done, Mr. Scrimgeour?" he said it teasingly, as if to ridicule the man and his fears. "Because I can reassure you that we are not exactly the people the public paints us as. In short, we're the children in school who didn't fit in quite well. We're… harmless nerds."

Next to him, Owen barked out in laughter, clutching his plate of slathered meatballs. "Well said, Izar, well said."

Riddle remained a silent body next to Izar, watching. He knew the man was here to examine how well Izar could handle Rufus. And Izar was inclined to show the man that he could handle himself just fine.

Rufus chuckled quietly, cocking his head to the side to study Izar in a new light. "And yet, you're accompanying a high-end politician as his heir."

Izar smiled. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity for free lunches." Owen howled out another chuckle, yet Izar remained inexpressive as he watched Rufus rear his head back in a gesture that resembled an uptight horse.

The Minister candidate was sizing him up just as Izar was sizing him. Rufus wanted to know what to think of Riddle's new heir, whether he was a threat, or someone to turn a cold shoulder on. Although Izar wanted it to be the latter, he secretly wanted Rufus to see something in him that would return the man's attention for later.

Yellow eyes examined him closely. "Sometimes, intelligent minds are the most dangerous. Tell me, Izar, what are you? An experimenter or an inventor? Owen tells me you are both, but most don't excel in both."

Izar never missed a beat. "I believe one must excel in both, sir, in order to be good at what they do. One cannot invent, if they have not experimented. And one cannot experiment if they have not invented something on the path to their results."

"Impressive," Rufus agreed sharply. He ran a hand through his hair, bringing attention to his thick tawny mane. The top of his head seemed slick with either gel or grease, but from his ears down to his shoulders, tight curls resided. "That is a very impressive viewpoint. But the issue still stands, Mr. Black. Inquiring minds need sating, and in turn, such a mind needs restrictions. What's saying your colleagues will not experiment on human beings? What if they plan on ways to destroy communities with a single blow?"

Riddle's hand slid down Izar's back and briefly touched the small of his back before coming to a stop at the man's side. Izar knew the Dark Lord was pleased with him so far. And while Izar wasn't dancing with Rufus for Riddle's favor, it did help matters.

"There are many ways to construct such a destructive force, Mr. Scrimgeour. But most inventors and experimenters, like myself, enjoy the art of creating something new, something that would manipulate the very laws of physics and magic. They aren't interested in total destruction. At any rate, it's already been done before by Muggles." He hated to reference _Muggles_, but it was relative to what he was trying to get across.

Destruction was simple, even Muggles could do it. Rufus should have nothing to fear for Unspeakables to mimic the same effects.

An odd light entered Rufus' eyes at Izar's comment. "Muggles, extraordinary folk, don't you agree, Izar?"

It was an abrupt change of topic, but Rufus seemed oddly interested in Izar's response. The man was likely trying to gauge Izar's true feelings on Muggles and Muggle-borns. Or perhaps it was something a bit _more_. Either way, Izar would give the truth, or… at least half the truth. After all, Riddle would find it pathetic if Izar just agreed completely with Rufus' statement.

"Extraordinary despite their circumstances, sir, but overall, they're just frightened of power and those who wield it." Rufus raised his eyebrows at his answer, but Izar didn't allow the man to interrupt. "They created the atomic bomb out of fear and revenge. They will continue to fear those who hold more power over them. Their response will, and _always _will be, predictable if they find out about magic and those who wield it. Destruction."

A wary grin stretched Rufus' face. "And who said they would find out about our world?"

Muggle-borns. The answer was as simple as that. The more Muggle-borns who were born and allowed to live in both worlds would soon become too large to control. They would talk and they would have too many attachments in the Muggle world.

Instead of retorting this to Rufus, Izar only smiled thinly. "I'm afraid that we could go into this debate for hours, Mr. Scrimgeour. However, I think I've taken up too much of your time. You seem to be wanted elsewhere." He waved a careless hand toward the hall, having felt the piercing stares on the side of his face for awhile now.

Scrimgeour turned, spotting the guests staring at them politely and inquisitively. With a chuckle, Rufus turned back around and stepped closer to Izar. "I see that I've lingered far too long, though it's been a very pleasurable conversation, Mr. Black. I hope to continue our discussion sometime in the near future if Undersecretary Riddle is willing to share you?"

Lord Voldemort does _not _share. Izar thought Rufus' inquiry was humorous, but he nodded sharply. "I look forward to it."

Rufus shook hands with Owen and Riddle before giving one last handshake to Izar. "I hope I have your vote?" The man asked lightly, yet seriously.

Izar gave a sinister smile full of teeth. "If I were old enough, Mr. Scrimgeour, you would have my vote, yes."

His statement seemed to take the man off guard, as if he had forgotten Izar was only sixteen. With a low bow at the waist, Rufus turned and limped off to the rest of the hall. Izar watched him go hungrily; knowing he had secured Rufus' interest and knowing he now had a worthy opponent.

"Very good, child," Riddle purred into his wine glass. It was low enough that anyone passing or hovering nearby wouldn't pick up on it. With Izar's improved hearing, he could distinguish it with clarity.

A heavy hand clasped his back. "I hope this means you'll be returning to work on Monday? Full time?" Owen grumbled, balancing his plate of meatballs with his free hand. "We've missed you around the Department, Mr. Black."

"Hopefully not because you have more Time-Turners for me to do…" Izar murmured silkily.

Owen chuckled. "We have a new recruit for that, Mr. Black."

"I'm afraid he will not be returning to you full-time, Mr. Welder," Riddle intercepted smoothly.

Izar sent him a pointed look, struggling not to voice his opinion.

"With Izar's status as my political heir, I will need him nearby," the man continued flawlessly. He lowered his glass of empty wine on the buffet table and leveled Owen with a stare. "Might I suggest we trade him every day after lunch? Mornings will be spent with the Unspeakables, after which, he'll be accompanying me."

Izar leaned against the table, staring at the guests mingling about the hall. Due to the late hour, there were fewer occupants inside, but a handful was staying behind in hopes of speaking with either Rufus Scrimgeour or Pius Thicknesse. Without real interest, Izar considered the dancing couples as he waited for Welder's response.

He couldn't find fault in Riddle's arrangement. It could have been easy for Riddle to just remove Izar from the Unspeakables, but the man had offered something halfway—a rare occurrence. But was it an act of generosity on Riddle's part? Or an act that fit Voldemort's schemes? As far as Izar knew, the Dark Lord only had one other spy within the Unspeakable ranks, Rookwood.

"Part-time," Owen grumbled before grunting. "As long as he shows up on time in the mornings, I can find nothing wrong with the arrangement."

Izar looked at Riddle from the corner of his eye and noticed the man's sickly sweet smile.

"I'm glad it's settled," the man whispered. "We will be taking our leave, Owen. A pleasure to see you again. I will make certain Izar will be at work on Monday at eight o'clock sharp."

Izar barely got a nod out before Riddle was steering him across the hall and toward the exit. "My father—"

"Can wait," Riddle responded.

Izar growled low in his throat, knowing all to well that the man heard it. He was led out the hall and into the long stretch of corridor where the guests deposited their outer cloaks, coats, and purses.

"Tom, Tom!" A distant voice called after them with a winded desperation.

About to turn around to see who was calling out Riddle, Izar was halted by two hands landing heavily on his shoulder, urging him forward. "Keep walking, quickly," Riddle exhaled in his ear.

Izar grinned, realizing the Dark Lord wanted to avoid an encounter with whoever was calling after him. But just as they were about the cross the threshold of safety, a figure cloaked and draped of brilliant pink stepped right in front of Izar, blocking their path.

The Black heir blinked at the apparition in front of him before issuing a horrified gasp and backing abruptly into the Dark Lord behind him. The man let out an annoyed grunt, his hands becoming painful on Izar's shoulders.

The woman… she _had_ to be part toad.

She smiled thinly, resembling a conniving and scheming toad. Izar hissed at her between his teeth, fearing the beady brown eyes and the smile that stretched for miles across her squat face. She was his nightmares personified.

"Hem-Hem," she blinked at him sweetly. "Are you okay, dear?"

No, he wasn't. Izar peered up at Riddle. The man met his stare, his lips pressed in a thin line that expressed his exasperation. It was a childish weakness, to be frightened of toads and frogs as much as he was. But Izar wasn't so much _frightened _of them as he was unsettled. He could handle them just fine if it came down to it; he just… found them…

Disquieting.

Before Izar could recover, the male voice that had been calling Riddle had finally caught up to them. Izar was surprised to see Cornelius Fudge panting, out of breath and red in the face. "Tom," Fudge breathed. "I had hoped to catch you before you took your leave."

A box was held in the Minister's hand and Izar studied it with intrigue, using it as means to ignore the woman in pink who had stepped smugly next to Fudge.

"Oh? And what couldn't wait until Monday, Minister Fudge?" Riddle inquired.

Fudge smiled warmly at Izar, giving a sharp nod in greeting before passing the box to Undersecretary Riddle. "I wanted to give these to you as a gift, Tom. We've worked together for a few years now, and I think you could benefit greatly from these."

Everyone seemed to lean in close as Riddle slowly opened the lid of the box and revealed… a pair of pointed purple boots. Izar's lips curled inward in order to stop his laugh, especially at the expression Riddle was too slow to hide. Utter disgust. It was gone quickly and most likely too fast for Fudge or the toad-woman to spot.

"I can't take these, Minister," Riddle tried to dig his way out of it.

Oh… but Izar would _not _allow the man to do so. He considered this as part of his revenge for last night's… facial.

"Nonsense, Mr. Riddle," Izar stepped in with an air of smugness and took out a boot from the box. He held it up, examining the purple leather and leaning closer to Riddle. "These are crafted richly and of high quality. It's a very generous gift, Minister. I think it will add a bit of color to Undersecretary Riddle's wardrobe."

Izar completely ignored the stare he was receiving from Riddle and focused on Fudge's split grin. "Exactly, my boy. That is what I had in mind when I purchased these boots for Tom."

The Black heir nodded, smiling as he placed the boot back in the box and pushed it further into Riddle's hands. "I will make certain Mr. Riddle will wear these boots on Monday," he added with a wide smile.

**{Death of Today}**

A few minutes later found Izar and Voldemort sitting across from each other, the box of purple pointed boots abandoned in the far corner. They were currently residing in Lord Voldemort's base, a few miles south of London. Many of the Dark Lord's trusted followers knew its location, specifically his Inner-Circle Death Eaters. Because Bellatrix and a few other Death Eaters were warranted for arrest, the base was also their home.

The Dark Lord had his own wing reserved at the base with multiple of rooms locked and blocked off from anyone entering. Privacy was the man's high demand when he constructed this base, and that was what he got.

It was, by no means, as luxurious and refreshing as his private home on the beach. The atmosphere here was cold, dark, and dingy, everything expected of a Dark Lord. But because the base was mostly underground, it was to be expected that sunlight didn't reach the inhibitors.

Izar sat stiffly across from the Dark Lord, watching him through hooded eyes as the Dark Lord sipped on a rather large brandy. Crimson eyes watched him just as intensely from over the rim of the tumbler. Despite the man's praise earlier this evening at the Ministry ball, Izar could _feel _the displeasure coming off Voldemort in waves.

"May I retire?" Izar questioned softly, smothering a palm down his white robes. Earlier, after tailoring his robes, Izar was shown the base before they left for the Ministry function. He was shown a room in Voldemort's wing and knew exactly where to go.

"No," Voldemort replied simply.

Settling further against the plush leather couch, Izar's slit-eyes lazily traced the sloppy collar of the Dark Lord. As soon as they had stepped foot into the privacy of Voldemort's chambers, Riddle's glamour had melted away and converted back into the infamous Dark Lord.

Izar was quick to notice the Dark Lord didn't reveal his fangs, ears, or scales, only the red-slit eyes. It was obvious the man disliked his creature side, despite having invented it himself. To counter the man, Izar had dropped every one of his own glamour spells. He could feel his pointed ears brush against his hair and his eyes felt refreshed, almost as if a dry film had been removed.

Izar wanted Voldemort to see his creature side, to remind the man of what he was even if the Dark Lord wasn't willing to expose himself.

"If this is over the purple boots…" Izar began, wanting to get this discussion over with. He was exhausted, and arguing with the Dark Lord was the last thing he wanted to do.

"You did a remarkable job with Scrimgeour," Voldemort contradicted, completely forgoing the purple boots. They both knew that wasn't what the man was upset about. Red eyes narrowed. "Almost too well."

Izar gave a grim and dark smile, amused. Was the man jealous that he had found a new interest? The man should know that _no one _could replace him, but Izar refused to tell the man as such. It would only inflate his ego. "I find him interesting," he confessed. "He's a fascinating character, a worthy opponent— as you would say."

Voldemort didn't respond for some time, favoring scrutinizing Izar instead. His fingernails tapped his glass as he contemplated deeply. "You remind me of a kitten," the Dark Lord murmured. "Batting a ball of unwoven yarn. It is not wise to play for too long or you will end up tangled."

Izar tipped his head back, baring his neck to the man as he grinned up at the ceiling. "You do it all the time," Izar countered.

"I do not allow my emotions to rule me," Voldemort hissed out. "You will do well to note Scrimgeour as a worthy opponent and abandon all sense of respect and intrigue. It will only dig you deeper into his hold. How do you know that Scrimgeour is not playing on your interest? What's saying he isn't using you to get to me?"

"He does not strike me as a man who uses underlying methods to deceive. Rufus Scrimgeour is blunt and obvious with his attacks after patiently studying his prey," Izar responded smartly as he remembered the man's mannerisms during the Ministry function.

Voldemort held his glass with his fingertips, twisting it gracefully in a continuous circle. The fire residing in the black-stone hearth caught the man's silver Celtic band, making it glow. "Don't be too sure, child," Voldemort warned.

The two lapsed in silence, the cracking wood in the fireplace the only means of sound between the both of them. Izar stared at the flames, angry that the Dark Lord thought so little of his observations. He was relatively good at reading people and Voldemort said himself that Rufus' strategy relies on direct force. Scrimgeour was a Gryffindor and an Auror. Both were bred to attack directly and quickly.

"What did you talk about with your mother after your… astounding escape from my side?"

Izar looked at Voldemort, hiding his surprise well. The Dark Lord was never known to ask very personal questions and Izar wasn't experienced in this territory. Regulus and Sirius were the only two who really _knew _Izar and his personal experiences, and even they didn't know most of it.

"She wanted to know about Cygnus' attack," Izar murmured calmly. "She wanted to know how I was able to defeat him and to remind me that the custody battle was still in place." Licking his lips, Izar offered the man a wary grin. "I told her that with your mastery in Legilimens, I was able to drive out Cygnus."

A lie.

And Voldemort sniffed it out quickly and expertly.

Abruptly, the Dark Lord stood from the couch and walked a few feet away, examining the wet bar. "Interesting," he rolled the word across his tongue. "You see, I've had misgivings about your mother the day of Cygnus' attack. Funny… at the Ministry she seemed to know exactly what was going on without prior warning. She also seemed to want Cygnus to reach the Veil, as if she had her own plan of attack as soon as he merged fully with the rest of his spirit."

Izar stood up, too anxious to sit. He paced the front of the fireplace, heat licking his clothed legs. Why was he—

"Why are you defending your mother, silly child?" Voldemort mimicked his own thoughts. "The woman who conceived you in order to bait your father. The woman who dropped off her mistake at a Muggle orphanage—the very same orphanage that put you through _hell_." Voldemort continued to face away, a curl to his lip.

"Many mothers give up their child if they feel as if they have no where else to turn," Izar murmured. "She was young and so twisted by Dumbledore's manipulations. Aside from guilt, I believe she put me up for adoption in order to hide me from the Headmaster's reach."

Voldemort whirled around, his expression contorted into repugnance. "You are pathetic."

Izar saw red. He lifted his lip and bared his right fang as he threw his arm out in fury. "I think holding on to my anger is pathetic. I forgive her for putting me up for adoption, but I will never forget. Just as I will not forgive her for what she did to Regulus." Izar breathed deeply, his human actions too ingrained on his mind to realize he did not need the oxygen.

He didn't want to think of Lily right now. His mother was dead and all that remained was a cold shell of the former woman. But how had she gotten that way? Simply because she made a Horcrux to protect him.

He felt no guilt. He could and would never. But he harbored something akin to respect for the woman. His emotions were too twisted, too unclear to see what he truly felt about his mother and the situation she thrust them in. He held no love for her, Lily Potter, never would, but what he really felt for her would remain a mystery until he sat down and thought on this.

Until that time, he didn't want to talk about _her _or her Horcrux.

"I don't want to talk about this," Izar relayed to Voldemort before the man could retort. "She is a topic that will remain untouched for now."

Voldemort smiled aggressively. "Fine," he nodded. "Then we will speak of that blond…thing… that witch." A pale hand waved carelessly through the air as if Voldemort thought so little of the topic of Daphne.

Izar glowered across the room at the Dark Lord. He supposed now was the time to discuss the arranged marriage. The Dark Lord was already peeved, angry, and Izar was too exhausted to try to be subtle about it. "Daphne Greengrass, as if you hadn't known," Izar murmured in amusement. "I think an arranged marriage would benefit all three of us."

Suddenly, the air grew cold and Izar took a small step back as he _felt _and saw the Dark Lord's magic for the first time since the accident. It was exhilarating and frightening at the same, only because it was the Dark Lord's anger that made it possible for Izar to see it again. The pulverized diamond dust seemed to warm a coal orange-red and its usual settled and lazy motions were angrily swimming around Voldemort.

"Benefit all three of us?" the Dark Lord mimicked back. Shadows clung to the man's form and expression, all evidence that the man was far from happy with the suggestion. "The only one I would see benefiting from this is that wretch, no? She climbs the social ladder as the wife of the heir to the Black family."

Izar stepped forward, stubbornly poking the enraged serpent. "She doesn't see me as a romantic suitor and I see her platonically. She respects my privacy and has even suggested that we don't need to live under the same roof. She—"

"I see you have already planned this romantic getaway between yourselves. It's precious, truly, but it will never happen." Voldemort murmured back in clipped-tones.

Leaning back on the heels of his feet, Izar examined the Dark Lord's stiff back and closed off expression. How far could he push? The man was clearly furious already, but the Dark Lord was known for his short temper. How far until the short temper soured into lividness? The man wasn't even allowing Izar to finish or explain his side rationally. It irritated him that the man had to be so bloody stubborn.

"I already told you there is nothing _romantic _about it," Izar continued quietly in a controlled voice. "I believe that it would be another added protection to our true… relationship. If anyone grew suspicious of my proximity to you, a… fiancé on top of my status of your political heir would—"

Voldemort held up his left hand, showing off the Celtic band. "_This _is reason enough. If there are more suspicions involving our true relationship past our political ties, then the one who suspects will be slain— killed. You will not be touching her or this subject again, is that clear?"

He said it almost calmly. Izar debated for a moment, pondering if this was a sign of Voldemort's temper dying down or if it was simply the calm before the storm?

Izar's body grew stiff as he prepared himself to dodge anything that came to him. "As Black heir to a pure-blood family, I am expected to marry and continue on the line…"

Perhaps mentioning an heir wasn't the best course of action, especially when the Dark Lord probably wasn't thinking of adoption but of sexual intercourse with Daphne. Voldemort snarled, pitching his glass of brandy at Izar. The speed was incredibly fast but Izar's reflexes were just as honed. The lithe wizard dropped in a crouch as the glass shattered over his head, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Izar hissed in defense as he stayed crouched, eyeing the Dark Lord warily.

"If you try to challenge my order," Voldemort began icily. "You _will _feel what its like to be on the other end of my wrath."

There were no games this time. The conversation was done and the decision was in shades of black and white. Voldemort was left standing, holding the playing field in his favor. Izar accepted this, accepted that there would never be an arranged marriage with Daphne, but it angered him that the Dark Lord was so set against it, that he hadn't given Izar a chance to explain his side properly.

"Is that a threat?" Izar whispered.

"That _is _a threat, yes."

Izar bowed his head, clutching the ground with his fingernails. He struggled to reign in his own temper, knowing all too well that if he met the Dark Lord with his own fury, the man would continue to turn a deaf ear and try to match his anger.

"You know that I would never commit infidelity, My Lord. The thought never and will never cross my mind."

Voldemort remained silent, a brooding figure across the room.

"I suppose our… relationship will never be based on trust, though. You will never trust me. And I will never trust you. But you want this, don't you, My Lord?" Izar looked up at the man through the fall of his dark bangs. "You want someone to be a challenge for you, but you will never accept them as your equal—an equal that can hold your trust." Izar's eerie pale eyes met Voldemort's crimson. "I am nothing but a mere possession to you, something that amuses you at times, but something you can easily discard."

Izar stood up stiffly from his crouched position, crossing his arms over his chest. "In time I hope you realize that I'm a loyal person," Izar continued silkily. "I can be a challenge to you while also holding your trust at the same time."

Voldemort's lip turned downward. "You may think you have me figured out, child, but your perception is far off its base."

The Black heir gave a noise of disbelief in his throat, but otherwise, did not comment on the man's declaration. "Is that all, My Lord?"

Voldemort's crimson eyes surveyed Izar closely before the man waved his hand, slamming open the door as answer. Izar crossed the room, passing the Dark Lord. But before he could exit, a hand struck out and grabbed him by the elbow. Suddenly, he was turned and a hand cradled his face, turning it just the right angle for the lips to take his mouth captive. Voldemort didn't have to bend down so far to meet Izar's lips like he used to in the past.

Izar remained stiff in return, not inclined to meet the kiss tonight.

Voldemort pulled back, keeping his hand still curled around Izar's elbow and cheek. "No, that isn't all," Voldemort murmured. "I'd like you to share my bed with me tonight. Every night."

The request took him by surprise. It was also a show of vulnerability on the Dark Lord's behalf. It was a move that proved to Izar that Voldemort didn't want him to leave angry and with the wrong assumptions. "I'm tired," he responded feebly.

A sly smile curved Voldemort's lips. "Usually when you sleep, you _are _tired, child. I am not asking you to have sex with me. I want you _in _my bed with me."

Izar remained guarded as he studied the man closely. Without his permission, his stomach clenched hotly at the thought of sleeping in the same bed with the Dark Lord. Not sex, nothing but sleeping.

Finally, Izar gave a tense nod.

Voldemort inclined his head. "You know where my bed is. I will be there in a few minutes."

Izar glided from the room, nearing the Dark Lord's bedchamber. As he crossed the threshold into the dark bedroom, Izar realized something he hadn't thought of as soon as the request was given.

Voldemort would be sleeping, rendering himself vulnerable and exposed. Such exposure meant that he was comfortable with Izar next to him, that there was a semblance of trust between the two of them.

Despite the man being a bastard, Izar was ready to admit that his perception of Voldemort might have been wrong.

**{Death of Today}**

_He was dreaming. Izar didn't dream very often, but when he did, his dreams were generally about nothing in particular. _

_Next to him, a man stood studying a portrait. It was an artistic portrait, something made from the wizarding world. There weren't many wizards or witches who chose art as an occupation, but when they did, they excelled beautifully at it. Izar took little interest in the portrait and instead favored the man next to him. _

_The man was wrinkled, appearing in his late sixties. Black hair was streaked with grey and a few peppered-strands had evidence of curls. A rough goatee painted the man's aristocratic features while sparkling charcoal eyes searched the moving portrait in front of him. _

"_Regulus," Izar murmured, pleased. His father had aged well. Incredibly handsome and dignified. _

_Regulus turned to him with a bemused smile. "Regulus? I haven't heard that name in years, Izar." Charcoal eyes, so like Regulus', traced his face. _

"_Why?" Izar asked. "You're Regulus Black aren't you?" _

_The man frowned, suddenly losing his good nature and turning serious. "Regulus was my fourth great grandfather, Izar." _

_Something turned cold in Izar's stomach as he stared at the man. He must have been a descendant of Regulus'. And if he was Regulus' many-times removed grandson, then that meant the man was Izar's… grandson as well. The Black heir's mouth grew dry as he studied the old man before him almost obsessively. This couldn't be… this was too bizarre. _

"_Look," the man pointed at the portrait across from Izar. "Look at the beauty, the timeless beauty. Forever Frozen, they call it." _

_Izar slowly turned away from the man and looked at the portrait. Only, it wasn't a portrait but a mirror. Izar stared at himself, forever sixteen. _

_His descendant peered into the mirror, his wrinkles clashing with Izar's flawless skin. "Odd, you look much like a Black," his descendant murmured. "I'm surprised we aren't related. Though, for all we know, you could be a distant nephew of mine."_

_Izar turned away from his reflection, staring at his young- but old descendant. The man's statement was answer enough to his questions. Izar would forever be a bystander to the Black family line after he was 'dead'. He could never get too close, in fear of discovery, in fear of attachments. He would be forced to keep watch from afar, contact scarce. _

_Immortality never seemed so desolate. _

Izar awoke, his mind and head still thick with sleep. Subconsciously, he was aware of the tight arms around him, holding him from behind. Izar rolled around, facing the body next to him and searching for the one that harbored the same curse as his own.

He pressed his chest against the only other body that shared his same temperature, the one that was also absence of a pulse, but still brimming with life…

In return, the arms tightened around him.

And suddenly, immortality didn't feel so alone.

* * *

**{Notes}** No, the dream does *_not_* mean Izar is going to have a child.** :)**

Next chapter, there will be a Death Eater meeting and a Regulus/Izar and Draco/Izar interaction—(hopefully) And perhaps an Occlumency lesson between Voldemort and Izar.


	43. Part II Chapter 11

Thanks to those of you who reviewed last chapter.

_**Another **_**note: **A couple of people realized they skipped chapter 39. I _did_ post 39 and 40 relatively close together—I just wanted to tell you all in case you hadn't read it. _(Though, if you forgot to read the chapter and didn't notice any missing information, then maybe it isn't a chapter important enough to read_) **;)**

**Chapter Eleven **

It was Sunday—the day of rest and relaxation, the day that most Muggles would consider sacred. It was also the day before the new Minister was announced. And to the ignorant population of Britain, this Sunday was also the day before the Dark Lord Voldemort rose to power and wreaked havoc across the country.

Izar could almost taste Voldemort's eagerness, a cruel and tangy flavor of sadistic glee. The Dark wizard hid it well, but Izar knew the man too well to turn the other cheek. It was humorous to see Voldemort so excited about something. Though, perhaps excitement wasn't the best word for it. Anticipation, pleasure, were better words to correlate to what the man was feeling.

And Izar could understand the man's emotions, for he felt them as well.

The Dark Lord's base was busier then it had ever been, save the nights in which initiations were held. Izar remembered his own initiation as a Death Eater at the age of fifteen. He had wondered, what, exactly, he had gotten himself into. Odd, and almost cruel, how things could change in such a short time period.

"I need to talk to you," a voice snagged Izar's attention and held him in place.

He turned leisurely, his human glamours already put in place as soon as he had left the Dark Lord's private wing. There was a Death Eater meeting being held—full attendance. Voldemort would be informing his followers of the raid tomorrow, but would keep their location undisclosed until Monday night. The man was skeptical of his followers, and rightfully so. Izar would be disappointed if the man relied too heavily on his servants.

Izar's lips curled upward as he spotted Draco Malfoy leaning against a crook in the dark corridor, reeking of expensive cologne. They were both dressed in their black Death Eater robes, holding their respective masks lazily in their fingers. Izar held his silver mask while Draco clutched his charcoal mask.

"Draco," Izar murmured in quiet greeting. He stepped closer to the blond boy, using the darkness to shade them from prying eyes. "What is it that you'd like to speak to me about?" Unnecessarily, he stepped even closer, dwarfing the shorter wizard with his height.

The Malfoy heir grimaced lightly before his pure-blood mask held firm. "I'd like to clear some things up, between you and I." Draco lifted his chin haughtily, ignoring Izar's mocking smile. "Last year, during Christmas, that kiss between us meant nothing to me."

Izar chuckled low in his throat, leaning close and teasing Draco's face with his cool breath. "Good," Izar breathed. "Because it didn't mean anything to me either. Is that all?"

Just as he was about to turn away, a hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder, halting him. "I want to make sure that you understand my reasons for pursuing you romantically." Draco's pale silver eyes traced Izar's expressionless face. "I'm not gay," the boy blurted out quietly. "My father took an interest in you and I thought that if I… snagged you, he would look at me with some respect."

Izar's lips quirked. He had his suspicions that Draco hadn't been gay, thus his surprise for the boy's sudden kiss last Christmas. "Your father is not a homosexual, Draco," Izar murmured, pushing of Draco's hand on his shoulder. "And neither am I," he bluffed lightly.

It was clear from the boy's expression that Draco did not believe him. "I'm not blind. I see the way my father looks at you and I see the way you play on it," Draco growled.

"Your mother, Narcissa, is an impressive woman," Izar continued as if he hadn't heard Draco's interruption. "Lucius would be a fool to destroy such an unyielding relationship with her, and he knows this well. He admires physical beauty, whether it is a man or a woman. But that doesn't mean he would ever pursue a sexual relationship with his interest, just as he would never betray Narcissa in such a way. Let me reassure you, Draco, that your father and I would _never _see each other romantically. It's just a cruel game we like to play."

And it was true. Izar knew Lucius was not gay and he probably would never touch anyone other than Narcissa. The man admired beauty and gave off a sexual excitement when he found an interesting specimen. It was similar to Izar's interests; only, his reactions never came across like Lucius' did. Lucius just reeked of seduction and sexual energy.

But Draco's confession finally shed light on his possessiveness over Izar at Hogwarts. The boy wanted to be close to him, perhaps out of curiosity and mostly out of the drive to prove to his father that he had acceptable _friends. _

"At any rate," Izar drawled. "I believe your father would be more disappointed in you if he found out about what happened between you and I. Which is why you need to stop this shifty behavior. Do you understand?" He curled his fingers around Draco's heavy cloak, pushing him into the wall. "I don't want your pathetic display of emotion reflecting back on me."

Draco seethed, his cheeks burning pink as Izar threatened him. "You may have grown a few inches this summer, Izar, but I'm still the one leading."

It was a bluff, a feeble one at that, and Izar raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Is that so?" He dropped his hands from Draco, allowing the blond some time to gather himself. "Have you ever considered Daphne Greengrass as a bride?" he asked abruptly.

As predicted, the boy flinched, a dramatic grimace crossing his features. "Greengrass? If anything, her younger sister may be _passable_. Greengrass is far too outspoken for a woman."

The blond was playing right into Izar's trap. He turned his shoulder on Draco, humming lowly. "I thought so," Izar intoned.

"What do you mean, you _thought _so?" Draco asked sourly, suspiciously. He did not see the pleased smile stretching across Izar's face.

With an air of superiority, Izar looked coolly at Draco over his shoulder. "Well, simply that you are not up to the challenge." He shrugged lightly at Draco's wide-eyed surprise.

The boy really was coddled, spoiled. Did Narcissa pamper her son too much? Did Lucius? Were the Malfoys a more affectionate family than what the paraded to the world? Izar would have thought Lucius' son would take after his father, but the boy seemed almost sheltered. Which is why he believed Daphne would benefit from marrying Draco. She could easily walk over him if needed.

"Daphne is a very influential woman, very… much like your mother. She would make a suitable Malfoy wife. Lucius had to work for Narcissa; it would only be logical that you would have to work as well to get someone worthwhile."

Draco's eyes narrowed in consideration at his words, just as Izar had planned. The boy wouldn't back down from a challenge, and on the way, his pursuit of Daphne would open his eyes to her true character. And soon, little blond Malfoys would be running through the halls of the Malfoy Manor.

Izar felt a brief stab of sorrow before he angrily pushed it away. Daphne was the only female he could relate to, one that understood him and his tics. She teased him for always being absorbed in books and projects, but she understood his need to crave his curiosity, his need for privacy. It was difficult to ever come across someone like that, but Izar knew this was necessary.

Sometimes, sacrifices would be painful, but in the end, they were indispensable.

"But," Izar continued airily. He angled his body, placing on his silver mask and pulling up his hood. His charmed green and charcoal eyes sought Draco's through the slits of the mask. "I can understand if it would be too difficult for you. After all, who would want to go through so much effort for the future mother of their children? Or the woman who would control half of the Malfoy vaults?"

He left the crook of the corridor, blending in with the sea of other black robed Death Eaters. His Dark Mark was a constant burn, alerting him that Voldemort was calling his servants. Those who did not know the location of Voldemort's base were able to apparate directly here if their Marks were activated. It was useful, and Izar had to marvel at the Dark Lord's brilliance when he created the Dark Mark.

Izar entered the cold chamber with its tall, arched ceilings and darkened ambiance. There were two tall candles on either side of Voldemort, but their flames were barely bright enough to cast light across the length of the room.

Just like at his initiation, the Death Eaters were evenly placed in their hierocracy ranking. The twelve Inner-Circle Death Eaters were before the Dark Lord, shaped in a tight and unified semi-circle. They were still, motionless, as their knees and faces pressed against the ground before them.

To the observer, they brought forth a glorified image of power and a sense of self-importance.

Bowing directly behind the First tier, the silver-masked Death Eaters were assembled just as flawlessly. Izar made his way through the slew of bodies, catching Voldemort's eye briefly before turning away indifferently. The man looked like the royal pain in the arse he was—sitting so majestically on his chair, watching Izar like a predator would watch his prey.

Kneeling on the cold and hard ground, Izar reluctantly leaned forward, placing his palms on the ground in front of him and his masked forehead between them. He could feel the countless of bodies behind him as the charcoal masks lined up at the back of the room.

It felt like hours. But it was only minutes until the commotion settled down. After all, the Death Eaters would not make Voldemort wait. Izar wondered how the Dark Lord could possibly know if _all_ his followers were present. After all, there may be some Hogwarts students who hadn't left Hogwarts during the weekend and were not present. Most of them wouldn't be present for the attack on Monday, either.

It was for the best.

"Welcome," Voldemort's voice washed down their backs, similar to that of a slippery ice cube. "You may be at ease."

No sighs were dared issued, but the room felt lighter as the Death Eaters sat up on their knees.

Izar looked up at Voldemort through the bodies in front of him, noticing the man now stood in the center of his Inner-Circle. His position was intentional, Izar knew. Most Death Eaters wanted to be close to the Dark Lord, to be imperative enough to be in constant proximity. And Voldemort was using their desires to tease them. He stood next to his favored followers to show the other servants that _this _could be them someday if they proved their worth and loyalty.

"Before we begin, we have a new member to induct to our _team_."

Team.

Izar scoffed, ignoring the look from the Death Eater kneeling next to him.

"Regulus Black."

The weight of his mask was of no consequence as Izar turned sharply, watching as his father was escorted inside the room by two silver-masked Death Eaters. Despite the heavy black robes and bare feet, Regulus carried himself with pride. Izar just hoped Voldemort wouldn't knock down that pride anymore then necessary. His father would need to suffer for his betrayal, yes, but hopefully by a quick _Crucio_ and nothing more.

If his father was twisted beyond recognition, Izar would turn his back on Voldemort without hesitation. Voldemort was aware of this as well. The man had every right to kill Regulus—the Dark Lord _should _kill Regulus for what the man did. But because of Izar, the Dark Lord had to keep in mind that Regulus was someone who held position without having to do anything.

Izar leaned forward; his fingers caressing the concrete floor as Regulus kneeled before the Dark Lord. Behind his father, a woman shrieked out in laughter and everyone knew it was Bellatrix Lestrange. Only she would find humor in such a solemn situation.

"A few years too late, but nonetheless, you are brave… and foolish enough to come back to me." Voldemort was speaking to Regulus and the Inner-Circle next to him. The words should not have reached Izar's ears, but because of his enhanced hearing, they did. "Because I am a merciful Lord, I will allow you a second chance of redemption. Until that time, you will be punished for your betrayal. As will you Severus, for aiding him."

An unexpected move on the Dark Lord's behalf, but it was comprehensible. Izar rocked back on his heels, hunching in on himself as he watched Severus Snape move forward from his position at the Inner-Circle.

The Dark Lord's aura sparked and Izar was left breathless at its twisted beauty. He leeched on the moment of feeling magic once again, and not just the Dark Lord's aura, but everyone around him. Izar lowered his head, gasping in exhilaration the same moment his father and Snape screamed out. The screams were horrible and piercing to his ears, but the magic surrounding him comforted him and gave him strength.

It took a couple minutes for Izar to push away the distractions and close his eyes. His core had been split since the accident, if he could just pinpoint his magic-sensitivity…

And then it was gone. As were the screams.

Unhappy with the turnout, Izar glanced back up, watching as his father twitched uncontrollably on the floor. Snape was no better as he slowly moved back in position. Even with a Muscle Relaxer, both men wouldn't be the same for a few days. Lord Voldemort's _Crucio _was rumored the worse next to Bellatrix's.

Voldemort crouched down next to Regulus, taking hold of his arm and branding him with the Dark Mark. Regulus stifled his scream of pain and Izar remembered his own marking. Izar hadn't screamed, and in return, he had been denied the salve out of Voldemort's spite.

Through the slits of his mask, Izar watched as Snape shakily poured the salve over his father's arm. "Welcome to my ranks, Mr. Black," Voldemort purred, offering the charcoal mask to Regulus with a smug smile.

His father was in the Third tier. An obvious insult.

Izar pursed his lips, averting his eyes from his father as the man thanked the Dark Lord through gritted teeth and struggled to stand up. It was difficult to see Regulus so vulnerable, and because of that, Izar was too coward to watch. Even if his attention was averted to the floor, he could hear Regulus gasp for breath as the man passed him and toward the back of the room.

"I have called you all together to inform you that our time is now here. Tomorrow."

Murmurs spread throughout the crowd, the excitement almost as tangible as Voldemort's sadistic glee. Izar kept his head bowed, staring at the floor in boredom. Now that he was so close to the Dark Lord, the man charming a crowd was _nothing _compared to their usual banter. But he could sympathize with the Death Eaters. They were starved for any sort of attention from Voldemort. Hearing the man's voice reach out to them sated their need before a much stronger desire would take place.

"Tomorrow will be the day Britain will fear the Death Eaters," the Dark Lord continued. "We will be armed with nothing more than our wands and our goals…to destroy, to slaughter, and strike terror in those who oppose us." The words were strong, leaving the Death Eaters silent in its wake. "From here, we will stop at nothing to obtain the world we have desired, a world where Dark magic is just as accepted as Light magic, a world where Muggles are cut off completely from us—the superior beings."

The man would change the world, Izar didn't doubt that. It didn't matter if Voldemort didn't succeed; he would still have a hand at altering the way the wizarding world functioned. But the man had schemed, planned, and manipulated too long to fail.

And Izar was eager to see the carefully twisted world the man would assemble.

"And all of you, who kneel before me, will have the honor of being part of building this new world. You will be remembered as the wizards and witches who fought for the society your children and grandchildren will grow up in. But in order to construct this world, sacrifices must be made and lives must be relinquished. It is a difficult path to travel, but in the end, we will finally get what we rightfully deserve."

None of the Death Eaters made a sound as Voldemort's words resonated off the chamber walls. They kneeled in the dark, drowning in both excitement and fear. Even the lesser wizards knew this moment was the calm before the storm, the air swollen and thick with the upcoming war. It would be a difficult war, with many sacrifices and deaths.

Izar knew terror would be racing through the younger Death Eaters because of the heavy atmosphere of anticipation and dread. They would begin to second-guess their decision on joining ranks with a Dark Lord. But that hesitation would turn to a sense of duty and a sense of desire for wanting to change the perspective of the wizarding world.

The older Death Eaters, who had been with Voldemort the longest, would only feel burning relief and vicious glee. After all, they had watched most of the initiations and had seen Voldemort's army grow from a fledging group to a remarkable sized force.

But no one had waited as long as Tom Riddle had. After years, upon years of patience and careful scheming—his time was now here.

"Monday night we will strike," the Dark Lord continued, lowering the power he used in his voice. "The location will be disclosed the night of. Ready yourselves. And tonight, think of what you're fighting for."

Izar finally glanced up, watching as the man glided toward his chair and sat down. With a wave of his hand, he opened the doors to the chamber. "You are dismissed."

As soon as Izar stood, his Mark burned fiercely, making him hesitate. Black-clad wizards bumped past him, exiting the chamber, seemingly not affected by the burning Mark. Further up the room, the twelve members of the Inner-Circle were back in position of a full bow, staying immobile. Two other silver-masked Death Eaters were bowing down low, likely asked to stay behind through their Marks.

Pushing past his pride, Izar dropped back to his knees, leaning forward and giving the concrete floor his full attention once again. He could hear curious murmurs in the doorway as the Death Eaters took notice of the Death Eaters left behind. Drama. Humans were drawn to drama like a moth to flame. Rather amusing, really, and so predictable.

The door slammed shut once again, drowning the remaining Death Eaters in silence. Izar was a few meters away from the thrown, swaddled in shadows, but he could hear the flickering flames of the torches next to Voldemort and the Inner-Circle.

"I've asked you to stay behind to remedy a… _situation_," Voldemort purred. "It has come to my attention that I have twelve Inner-Circle members. I like to have thirteen. With Nott's death in Azkaban last year, I would like to name his successor."

Izar knew he wouldn't be chosen to become an Inner-Circle member. He was too young, too inexperienced, and the Death Eaters would be suspicious of his jump in ranks. He had yet to prove himself to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Still, he _was _curious as to why he was present.

"Crouch, please step forward."

Izar eyes widened at the name, angling his head in such a way that would permit him to watch a lithe figure stand up and approach the Dark Lord. Barty Crouch? As in the high-ranking Ministry official?

No, it couldn't be. The figure was too slim, too young. From the over-confident steps, Izar assumed this figure was Barty Crouch's only son. There wasn't much known about Barty Crouch Jr., only that he wasn't as deep in politics as his father.

"My Lord," the man whispered out in devotion. "I… this is the greatest honor. You have blessed me; I give you my undying loyalty and allegiance in return."

Izar snorted into the ground, turning his head away as the man kissed Voldemort's feet and obtained a gold mask. It was clear from the young man's voice that he was a bit off his rocker. Insanity seemed to run in the Black line, no matter how distant it was. From what Izar knew, Charis Black was the young man's grandmother.

"I now have thirteen Inner-Circle members, and yet, we have two Second tier Death Eaters left with us," Voldemort spoke after placating Crouch Jr. "One will receive a gift, while the other will need to make a vital decision." The Dark Lord paused unnecessarily before tapping his fingers on his armrest. "Izar Black, step forward."

Pushing off from his knees, Izar reluctantly walked forward. His eyes challenged Voldemort's as he noticed the pleased smirk across the man's face. They both knew Izar was too compliant in this role to ever challenge the man noticeably. It was too public, too out of place.

Bellatrix wheezed with laughter, reaching toward the Dark Lord but only caressing the floor. "Gift him, My Lord, please!"

Voldemort flashed a smile full of teeth as his attention never wavered from Izar's approaching figure. "I'm afraid Mr. Black is not ready to advance in his ranks yet, Bella." The Dark Lord cocked his head to the side, considering Izar. "But he will assist me with making an imperative decision."

"Anything for you, my Master," Izar spoke dryly, sarcastically. He came to a stop next to the Inner-Circle and kept standing until the man would force him to his knees.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, his smile twisting cruelly before he turned to assess his Inner-Circle members. "You all may be favored among my ranks, but let me remind you that your high ranking does _not _give you the right to go against my orders or twist them into your own favor." All amusement was gone from the man as his eyes drilled one Death Eater in particular. "Such a betrayal is _unforgivable_ among my Inner-Circle."

Izar stiffened, having an inclination as to where this was going and who the Dark Lord was speaking of.

"Avery, stand up."

There was an intake of air before the tall figure of Read Avery stood up. Izar became engrossed as his attention zeroed in on the man standing. Hate twisted and warmed his insides as he remembered the man during the Third Task last year. Back then, Avery was under the guise of Lukas Steinar.

"Don't be modest, Avery, remove your mask. Show Izar what he has done to your face."

Avery Senior dropped his shoulders, knowing all too well that he was under the Dark Lord's wrath. With heavy reluctance weighing his arms, Avery removed his gold mask and revealed his…

Well...

Izar couldn't really label it a 'face' if there wasn't one, now could he?

Some of the other members of the Inner-Circle snickered at Read Avery's misfortune. The right side of Avery's face was gone, revealing only a fine layer of torn muscle and bone. The eyeball that had rolled at Izar's feet during the Third Task obviously hadn't been recovered, revealing an empty socket that showed a lot more of Avery than Izar would've liked to see. Because there was no cheek, Izar could make out the pink jaw muscle and the countless of missing teeth. It was a stomach-weakening sight, but Izar also felt pleasure in seeing it.

"It fits you well," Izar murmured, catching the left eye of Avery watching him in vehemence. Yes, the man was beyond angry.

"Bastard," the man spat out, sounding just as disfigured as he appeared.

Voldemort tsked, sitting lazily on his chair. His posture may be calm and indifferent, but Izar knew the man was bubbling with sick humor. The Dark Lord had something up his sleeve, and Izar could only ponder on _what_ it was. "Now, Avery, the child wasn't the one who disregarded my orders." Red eyes turned to Izar. "I will give you the choice of demoting Avery to the Third tier or… killing him. Choose wisely."

"My _Lord!" _Avery cried, dropping to his knees. "I played around with the boy. That is _all_! I would never go against your order for anything of significance."

Izar sneered behind his mask. It was a pathetic attempt to save his hide, and one that Voldemort wouldn't look highly upon…

"Anything of significance?" Voldemort spoke softly. "You almost succeeded in killing Tom Riddle's political heir, Avery. That is significance enough." The Dark Lord turned back to Izar, his humor gone. "Choose."

There was a reason Voldemort was giving Izar the choice. Perhaps it was out of devotion, a sense of wanting to offer something to Izar as a gift—a gift only a Dark Lord would be capable of offering his lover. It could also be to test Izar's morals. The man already claimed Izar had too many morals when it came to war, to life in general. Voldemort thought this decision would stretch Izar's ethics.

But it wouldn't. The choice was easy. Izar felt enough anger over the consequences of Avery's assault and he also believed that the man would grow bitter and disloyal if he were placed in the Third tier.

Izar raised his chin, green and charcoal eyes meeting observant crimson. "Kill him, My Lord."

"Tom," Avery gasped out. "I have been your loyal follower since our days at Hogwarts. What does the boy have that I don't?"

"A face, obviously," Izar murmured dryly—quietly. He was stunned that Avery had the backbone to call the Dark Lord by his Muggle name here, in the throne room.

Voldemort seemed just as displeased, but he hid it behind a wall of unimpressed acknowledgement. "Because you've been by my side for quite some time, I will grant you an act of mercy." The Death Eater at his feet gushed in relief. "A duel to the death between you and Izar Black. I will allow you both three minutes. If you, Read, should succeed in the amount of time given, you will be allowed to live another day as a third-ranking Death Eater. If you both are left standing in the course of three minutes, I will demote Mr. Black to his father's rank and kill Read myself. Is that clear?" Voldemort murmured, his fingers pressed to his cheek in boredom.

Izar's lips thinned and his eyes became hooded at the _deal_. The man was doing this as means as amusement and perhaps to show his Inner-Circle that there _were _consequences to not following his orders.

Read Avery stood up abruptly, his movements not hindered by the loss of one eye. "Yes, My Lord, very clear."

Izar gloomily dragged his feet further away from the throne and faced the eager and desperate man. Wasn't it obvious to Avery that Voldemort was just playing with him longer? It was comparable to dangling a piece of ripe chicken in front of a starving man before pulling it away. Izar wasn't inclined or favored to be a puppet during Voldemort's playtime, especially when they both knew this would not be a challenge.

On the positive side, he would have his revenge. His experience with the Dementors had torn his mind to shattered remnants. It was because of this man that Izar had to experience his life at the orphanage when those memories had been carefully and greedily buried away.

A transparent hourglass blinked into existence above Voldemort, the sand already running.

Avery made a frantic sound in his throat as he brought his right leg forward and attacked Izar with the Killing Curse.

This was his first time dueling as an immortal creature and it worked to his advantage. Izar could see the green curse fly toward him with clarity and a slowness that was never there before. Making certain his movements were slow enough to pass as a human, Izar pivoted, avoiding the curse as it hit the wall behind him. With a quick crouch, he avoided another spell aimed directly between his eyes.

He leaned forward, pressing his fingertips into the ground as he suddenly felt Avery's aura. He could see it with precision again, feel it, taste it. His magic-sensitivity seemed to be blinking back into existence more often now, or perhaps it was just when Izar's adrenaline was at its highest.

"Draw your wand, damnit!" Avery breathed. The magic around the man indicated that Avery was humiliated.

Izar smiled thinly behind his mask, taunting the man with his eyes as he rolled away from another killing blow. He remembered the man last year, during the Third Task, telling Izar how pathetic he was, how the Dark Lord's favoritism was unwarranted—wasted on him. But who was the pathetic one now? Avery couldn't even get a direct hit at Izar and he hadn't even drawn his wand yet.

"Make me draw it," Izar challenged back. Either way, if the three minutes were up and they were still alive, Avery would be dead by Voldemort's hand.

Avery gave a choked yell of frustration as Izar rolled to his knees and avoided another curse that exploded the concrete right next to him. Finally, the man seemed to comprehend that point-black spells would not work and decided to use _Fiendfyre_—a spell that covered a good distance and would _make _Izar react.

Quickly drawing his wand, Izar contemplated swiftly, knowing that _Fiendfyre_ was Dark magic and would not be easily put out by a simple _Aguamenti_. _Aqua Eructo_ would work better, but Izar wanted to try something a bit more risky and challenging now that he had his magic-sensitivity.

Focusing on the scorching flames coming at him, he gathered his magic and reached out toward Avery's unattractive aura before _tugging_. The man's control of the _Fiendfyre_ was lost as it jumped to Izar's command.

The flames were uncomfortable to him as he gracefully maneuvered the flames away from his body, before circling it above his head, willing it grow. Avery took a shocked step back, his one eye wide.

Izar threw the fire back to its caster and Avery struggled with his wand before quickly casting the _Aqua Eructo_ to extinguish the flames. Thick steam rose and Izar glanced at the hourglass, noticing he had less than a minute left.

Jumping to the man's left side, his vulnerable side, Izar caressed his wand lovingly as he concentrated on the spell he had invented up over the summer. It reeked of Dark magic, but it was _oh _so pleasing.

"_Animus_," Izar murmured, his wand growing a scorching hot as a golden light grow at the point. _"Lapis!"_ He threw the spell at Avery the same time the man cast a slapdash Killing Curse. Izar dodged it at the last minute, hearing the hourglass run out of sand and Voldemort stand up.

As Izar crouched over the ground, he watched eagerly and apprehensively as his spell raced toward Avery's sloppy shield. The glowing gold spell resembled a bullet as it ate through the shield with ease before striking Avery. The man frowned in surprise, waiting for it to kill him, before he grinned up at Izar.

"You stupid bastard, you think you can get lucky with your little spells twice?" Avery spat, his single eye deranged. "You're _nothing _but a—" he paused, his words coming out in a heavy gasp.

Izar stood up, glowing with accomplishment as he watched his spell slowly take over Avery's body. It started at the legs, hardening them and forcing them stay in place. Avery reached for his wand, but as the intangible curse ran up his arm, it too, froze in place. It wasn't long until the man stood, seemingly frozen in place. What was left of his face would forever reveal his shock.

"What…?" someone murmured in confusion.

Walking toward the statue, Izar reached forward, pushing his fingertips against the hard body before shoving it forward. Avery, as motionless as a board and frozen in position, fell to the floor. As soon as his body came in contact, it shattered. Heavy limbs separated from the body like an old and hollow rock would do upon impact.

The man was a living stone. His blood, soft tissues and organs had solidified, stopping the heart and the brain. It was one of his most destructive spells, but one of the most useful. A counter-curse was possible is someone got to the victim in time. But if the victim shattered… there wasn't a way to reassemble.

Izar looked up at the Dark Lord. "Is that all you would like from me, My Lord?"

He could see the surprise lingering around the Inner-Circle Death Eaters as they stared at Avery's broken body. Izar refused to show his own smugness and instead met Voldemort's predatory stare. "You may take your leave, Izar." But judging from the Dark Lord's clear arousal, the man was thinking of _many _things Izar could do to assist him.

Before Izar exited from the chamber, he heard the name of the next Inner-Circle member. "Evan Rosier, please step forward."

He pushed the door shut behind him, noticing the lone figure standing across from him in the corridor. "Regulus?" Izar murmured in question. Everything that happened in the chamber became a distant memory when he saw his father.

The man had his head bowed, his thick hair veiling his face. At Izar's questionable greeting, Regulus looked up, his tired charcoal eyes becoming alive. "Izar, my son," the man breathed, stepping forward. With shaky movements, he reached out to his son and embraced him.

Izar smiled lightly, hugging his father back with fervor. Seeing his father again reminded him of his dream last night, a dream that made Izar _roll _toward Voldemort for comfort. The man hadn't said anything about it this morning, but then again, the Dark Lord was probably preoccupied with the upcoming raid.

The dream itself was unusual, one that left Izar distressed and empty. He knew it was meant to personify his… fears and vulnerabilities in response to his immortality. Being the one out of two immortal souls, being forever sixteen, watching his family and classmates grow old and die… it had an impact on him. Izar would never admit this out loud, in fear of Voldemort's reaction. But last night, Izar had a suspicion that Voldemort knew _exactly _what he was feeling.

Izar pushed his thoughts away as Regulus pulled back, struggling to keep himself upright. Quickly wrapping his arm around his father's waist, Izar carried most of Regulus' weight as they walked down the cool corridor. "I have a Muscle Relaxer that may help you," Izar murmured, glad to have his Death Eater mask still firmly in place.

"You don't need to take care of me," Regulus admonished. "I'm _your _father, Izar." Yet, as he said this, his body leaned more heavily on Izar, allowing the younger Black to take the lead.

"And you're also unable to apparate safely home, father. Let me make you some tea and get you something for your uptight nerves and muscles." Izar looked at the grey walls, not bothering to mention that they would be 'recuperating' in Voldemort's personal wing. The Dark Lord wouldn't care.

"Izar," Regulus struggled to breathe properly. "What did you agree to? With Lily?"

Izar paused in his steps, eyeing Regulus in perplexity. "I don't understand. I haven't agreed to anything."

Regulus' face contorted in pain as a tremor swept through his thin frame. "Izar," the man whispered again. "Lily dropped the case. She dropped the custody battle this morning." Charcoal eyes looked back up at Izar, becoming almost black in their intensity. "What did you agree on?"

Izar stiffened, looking away from his father.

This was impossible.

* * *

**{Long Note}** *sigh*

There are many things I'd like to do different about this story… one of them being the custody battle. Because chapters are posted one at a time, I can't go back and alter the story as I'd like. Because of this, I realized that if I would have a custody battle now— it would, in all honesty, be an utter waste of time and completely unnecessary. If I wanted to do a custody battle, I should have done during Izar's last year at Hogwarts. I know that I'll disappoint some readers, but I cannot force the custody battle into the story.

However, just because it didn't fit into the story doesn't mean I'm dropping the subject of Lily. Or James, for that matter. They still have a part in the story. And Sirius.


	44. Part II Chapter 12

Yes, I changed the Third tier masks from nickel (or was it copper?) to charcoal. It has come to my attention that nickel is very similar to silver, no? And silver is the color of the Second tier. I'm an idiot. So I changed it to charcoal.

As a warning, I'm going through a horrible writers block right now. I'm trying my best to push through it, but this chapter was painful for me and I'm not sure how the following ones will turn out. Just know that I'm thankful for all of you who are reading…I don't want to let you down with any of the chapters.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Twelve **

Izar's splayed fingers curled into claws across Regulus' waist as he looked at the man through the slits of his mask. His tongue was heavy, unable to form any coherent reassurances and his head was swimming with possible solutions as to why Lily would drop the case.

At the Ministry function, she had refused to drop the custody battle when Izar threatened that he wouldn't keep her Horcrux a secret. When Izar had threatened as such, she stayed strong in her rebuttal, claiming that she could not drop the case—that it wasn't possible. But… when Izar had persisted, saying that she would need to drop the case if she wanted forgiveness—redemption— her expression had hardened and became unreadable. Looking back on it now, Izar wondered if _that _was the reason for her actions.

That she just wanted peace between her and her son. That this was an act of desperation for his forgiveness.

No.

No, it couldn't be that. She was an empty shell. Lily even admitted she wasn't the same woman, the same mother Izar had met in his head. But what was the extent of her emotional damage after she split her soul? Was she as really as callous as she let on? Or was she trying to smother her emotions, ignoring them in order to fit her own needs?

There had to be something underhanded going on. Izar couldn't accept that Lily would drop the case just to make herself look better in his eyes.

He knew it wasn't to keep her Horcrux a secret. That much he was certain. They both had a silent understanding that Izar hadn't wanted to tell anyone about her sacrifice. He felt uncomfortable with telling Voldemort or Regulus and even admitting it out loud. Perhaps it was because he, himself, couldn't even accept it and ponder about it. Or maybe it was because he knew Voldemort and Regulus would tarnish the selfless sacrifice of his mother and try to pass it off as something she did out of spite.

The knowledge that Lily gave herself to save him was something Izar wanted to keep to himself. He wanted to bury the knowledge deep and conceal it from greedy fingers. He needed Lily's act to be untarnished and _his _alone.

"It's nothing," Izar murmured, his fingers loosening from Regulus' side. He continued supporting Regulus down the cold corridor, facing forward and squinting suspiciously into the shadows. His magic-sensitivity was absent again, but he still felt the shift in atmosphere. It was familiar to him, both cold and alluring… and utterly sinister.

Voldemort was near and he wasn't feeling generous enough to allow Izar time _alone _with his father. After all, this wing was the Dark Lord's ground; he would do whatever he pleased. And that included eavesdropping.

"Izar," Regulus continued. "It had to be _something_."

Izar swept past Voldemort's magical wards, feeling the slight nudge against his skin as it recognized him and inspected his guest. "We danced last night at the Ministry, Regulus. She seemed… different from the last time I talked with her and I tried a different approach with her. I asked her if she wanted redemption and forgiveness she would need to drop the case." Izar turned to look at the man once again. "And she dropped the case."

It was the truth. Izar felt better that he no longer had to lie. The Horcrux was just unwarranted information. Leaving it out wasn't lying to Regulus, it was simply stripping the truth.

Regulus seethed through his teeth, spit escaping past his lips. His charcoal eyes turned several shades paler as he ripped himself from Izar's grip. "She is not capable of redemption _nor _forgiveness."

The man stumbled without Izar's aid and collapsed to the floor. Regulus breathed deeply, shakily, and dragged himself upward in order to use the wall to crutch his back and head. Sweat coated his face, bringing attention to how pale and waxy his complexion was. To the human ear, Regulus' breathing sounded heavy and quick, but to his ears, Izar took notice of the catch with each inhalation and exhalation, almost if it were paining him to breathe.

"I'm sorry," Regulus murmured, using a gloved hand to wipe his face. "I didn't mean to shout at you."

Izar stood before his father, surveying the man grimly. "I'm not as sensitive as you believe, Regulus," Izar replied humorlessly. "I agree that Lily does not deserve forgiveness for what she's done to you, but—"

"And you. She's done just as much to you as me."

Izar paused, knowing that speaking to Regulus about Lily would always be like this. It was similar to the Dark Lord. They never wanted to hear another opinion; they liked _their _opinion and would turn a deaf ear on a new possibility. Regulus wouldn't believe that, perhaps, just maybe, Lily had suffered enough and that she had done all she can to make up for her past mistakes. There was more she could do, however, like personally approach Regulus and apologize, but for some reason, it was holding her back.

"You're wrong," Izar murmured. "She did much more to you. She only saw you as means to bring down the rising Dark Lord. She tore you away from your family and Severus Snape. Your desires for a child were played by her and when your hopes for having that child were growing, she pulled it away and claimed she was never pregnant with your child." Izar watched as Regulus' face creased angrily, unhappily. "All she did was give up my chance at a father and put me in an orphanage. She had no inkling that the orphanage would have turned out as a horrible experience for me."

"Don't…" Regulus whispered. "You are giving her excuses."

Izar straightened up from his bowed position and looked down the corridor. "Let's get you a Muscle Relaxer. You don't look so good." The man was too stubborn to talk to at the moment.

Regulus stiffened. "We are going to continue this discussion. I will not have Lily poisoning your mind against me."

An irritated breath escaped Izar's mouth. "We will continue the discussion, yes, but I'm not sure we can ever see eye to eye."

His father arched his back, his teeth gritting in frustration. "What has she done to you? What lies has she sprouted to you?" he accused sharply.

Izar suddenly crouched down, startling his father with his abruptness. Reaching forward, he cradled Regulus neck and underneath his knees, hoisting him off the floor. The man gave a startled intake of air and his body turned rigid.

"I do not forgive her for what she did to you," Izar continued smoothly, putting on a cold front to rival his father's hot rage. "And I probably will never forgive her. But I think she wants exoneration. She realizes what she did was wrong, Regulus. Dropping the custody battle was her way of demonstrating that driving a wedge further between us is not a wise decision."

He was growing weary speaking of Lily. Not only because arguing with Regulus was so tiring, but because he was arguing against something he hadn't even come to terms with himself.

Crossing the threshold into the living room and kitchen, Izar deposited Regulus on the couch before the man could comprehend that he had been carried by his own son. Quickly, before Regulus could speak, Izar ignited the fireplace with a wave of his wand and escaped into the kitchen with an order for his father to stay put.

Just as swiftly, he prepared the tea before turning his back on it to search the potion cabinet. Voldemort wouldn't _dare _protest against Izar using his personal wing to patch Regulus back up. The Dark Lord wanted Izar to stay at his base, returning to Grimmauld Place wasn't an option. And Izar would take advantage of that and use the top-of-the-line brewery for his father.

Plucking out the ice-blue potion and swirling it until it turned brown, Izar entered the living quarters to return to the couch he deposited his father. Only, Regulus was no where to be seen. Izar straightened up, casting a cool glance around the room before setting down the vial and quietly stalking Voldemort's quarters.

"Regulus?" Izar called out, ducking behind a tall column and spotting his father further down a slim corridor.

The man was leaning against a door frame, staring inside a room with an inexpressive face. "I was looking for the loo," the man commented darkly, an obvious lie. "Is this your room he makes you sleep in?"

Izar paused, not going any further down the corridor. He knew the room his father was looking in. It had meant to be his, but last night, Voldemort had requested him to sleep in his bed. "Yes," Izar responded briskly. "Though, if the Dark Lord catches you meddling around, he may consider casting another _Crucio_. Come back into the living room."

"It's not slept in," Regulus stated unemotionally as he followed Izar slowly back into the main living room. "Your bed was never made during the summer."

"The Dark Lord is anal about cleanliness," Izar bluffed as he tipped the vial and added a few drops of the Muscle Relaxer in the steaming tea cup. Its hot porcelain warmed his fingers pleasantly. "Sip on this," Izar instructed as he watched Regulus struggle to sit down without dropping down. "It's a bit more than medically recommended, but the Dark Lord's _Crucios _were not considered when the Healers constructed the potion," he spoke dryly and slid the cup across the table to his father.

Regulus' remained silent, not even flinching at Izar's attempt at humor. His hands remained firmly cupped in his lap as he stared at the table blankly. "You're sexually involved with him," the man stated coldly. It wasn't a question, but a numb statement.

"_That _is ridiculous," Izar hissed out. "You know very well that the Dark Lord does not take his followers to bed. It's against the rules of his game he likes to play with his servants." He stood up, staring into the fire as he tried to calm down his temper.

Regulus was acting differently. He never pried this much, he was never this… _bull-headed_ and inquisitive. It had to be because of the Cygnus possession. The man thought he'd come close to losing him. And now Regulus was trying to compensate for not stopping Cygnus right away.

"I'm acting like an overprotective father again, aren't I?" Regulus mused grimly with a hint of a smile across his face. "I know you are more than capable of taking care of yourself, Izar. I missed those years of your life when you were dependent on me. I just don't want to see you get hurt… by Lily or the Dark Lord."

Izar's eyes became unfocused as he stared into the orange flames. "I suppose it's only natural for you to be worried," Izar spoke stiffly, sitting back down on the couch across from Regulus.

He removed his eyes from the fire and onto his father. The man sat hunched forward, his attention absorbed on Izar. The flames from the hearth manipulated Regulus' features, making him appear older than his thirty-five years. And yet, in spirit, the man had gone through a lifetime of pain and betrayal. For Regulus' sake, Izar could never forgive his mother for twisting the man so cruelly. He was just a man in love, a man similar to Izar who would do anything to protect the ones he cared for.

When Izar was satisfied that Regulus had calmed down, he relaxed against the couch and removed his hood and mask. The heat from the fire tickled at his pores and thanked him for the fresh air. Setting down his silver mask next to Regulus' cup, he sat back, meeting his father's observation.

Regulus' smile turned wider. "You seem to grow more handsome each time I see you."

"It's only been a week since I last saw you, I couldn't have changed that much," Izar argued, hiding his skepticism smoothly behind a solid smirk. Voldemort and he had agreed that his features had altered slightly since his transformation, but not enough to cause an alarm. He wore no glamours on his face and he wondered if Regulus could identify the changes.

Regulus cocked his head to the side, still avoiding the tea as if drinking it would make him appear weak. "During the summer, I became used to your constant presence. I'm afraid any absence from you, longer than a day, will make me feel out of sorts where you are concerned."

Izar's lips thinned at the man's casual statement. It was unsettling to hear that Regulus relied on his presence so much. The man had been in hiding for over fourteen years, isolated from everything but Kreacher. Izar was his first attachment since leaving isolation, and he wondered how much Regulus depended on having him around.

The man clasped his hands together, suddenly turning serious. "Lucius claimed that the Dark Lord took care of everything concerning Cygnus. The Black family tapestry was destroyed the day of your possession… I couldn't tell if you were still alive or not. I was frantic, but I knew I had to stay calm."

Izar sat back, pondering. "The Black tapestry was destroyed? How?"

Regulus shook his head. "Dark magic. It was burned. I'm not too sure how or who, but I have reason to believe that Cygnus somehow destroyed it."

No, it was Voldemort. Izar knew the Dark Lord had something to do with the lack of Black tapestry. If anyone were to look at the tree now, they would see Izar as deceased the day Voldemort turned him. It was good planning on his part, almost suspiciously good planning.

"What exactly happened, Izar?" Regulus whispered in strain. "I know Cygnus' spirit possessed you. But he claimed that Legilimency wouldn't work to throw him out of your mind. How did the Dark Lord gain the upper hand?" His father squinted across at him, looking closely as if he were searching for any hint of Cygnus still residing within him.

Izar crossed his legs, offering the man a cynical grin. "I'll tell you as soon as you start drinking your tea."

Regulus leaned back, nodding in agreement before reaching slowly for his cup in order to stop the major tremors. Once Izar was satisfied with the amount of liquid the man consumed, he crossed his arms together and began. "You saw what happened with Cygnus," Izar started solemnly as he remembered the Ministry. "I was his living vessel, a body he could use for immortality. I couldn't stop him, no matter how hard I struggled. But he was arrogant and that was his downfall. Lord Voldemort was able to use Legilimency to tear him out. But in the process, he tore my mind."

It was an explanation Izar created himself. It didn't give away Voldemort's creature status and it didn't give away Lily's sacrifice. Both sides were happy.

"That's why he took you away for that week," Regulus murmured in understanding. "I didn't know if you were hurt after… he knocked me unconscious…"

Izar and Regulus shared a look, both remembering the attack at the Ministry. "I'm glad you turned out to be alright, Regulus. And Sirius? The Dark Lord said he made it out alive, but that fall… I remembered hearing the bones crack."

Regulus seemed to close up at the mention of his older brother. "Sirius was just recently released from St. Mungos. It took awhile for the Healers to properly mend his broken bones, his spine, especially, proved difficult to align and place back together."

Izar swallowed, feeling ill. "Emotionally? Is he alright?"

His father set down the half-empty cup, his muscles already visibly loosened. "I talked to him briefly after he got out of the hospital. He seemed shaken and withdrawn, but still his usual self. He's returned to his home in London, Izar. I'm afraid our contact will soon become little to nonexistent." Again, Regulus seemed almost grey with age as he murmured the last bit.

"What do you mean by that?" Izar demanded softly, sitting up.

Regulus offered Izar a sympathetic stare. "He will not come to the Dark side. He's on the other side of the battlefield now. War is beginning, my son. You must prepare yourself to fight against some of your old classmates and family. What you shared with him this summer was priceless and something I'm more than happy you experienced. He's a good man but he's set in his ways." Regulus frowned, looking at Izar as if he were a kicked kitten. "He cannot join us this time around, Izar. Please try to understand as much. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgment."

Izar stood up with ease, walking silently over to the stone hearth and leaning his forehead against the distressed oak mantle. "He's your brother," Izar drawled lazily, darkly. "Do you not feel any torment that you may have to fight against him?"

A light snort answered him. "Your character surprises me, Izar. For the most part, you are impassive and _completely_ dismissive of those vulnerable and beneath you. And yet, you seem to grow and nurture attachments. These bonds… these relationships, they are your weakness. You seem almost warm and shielding, compassionate, to those who you deem under your protection. It is both a wonderful and dangerous trait to have, Izar."

Izar narrowed his eyes in the flames, feeling it lick painfully against his skin. Behind him, he could hear Regulus stand and approach him. An arm curled across his waist and his father's breath tickled his turned cheek. "You must be willing to understand that you may have to kill Sirius in order to gain the bigger goal. Perhaps not you personally, but his death may be just that one life standing in our way. You have to look at who you're supporting, _what _you're fighting for. Would you rather choose Sirius' life over the opportunity for the Dark side to prevail?"

Rough stubble from Regulus' short goatee rubbed across Izar's cheek in an innocent reassurance.

"I _would_ find a way to do both," Izar boasted softly.

His father chuckled. "Just the answer I was expecting."

Regulus' warmth left Izar as the man gave him room. For just a lingering moment, Izar stared into the flames until his eyes screamed at him in discomfort. "I won't give up on him," Izar declared, turning to face his father. "I sensed reluctance and hesitation. He may not succumb to the Dark Arts, but there are wizards supporting Lord Voldemort that cast Light magic…"

His father surveyed him from across the rug, smiling softly. He stood there, many seconds of silence, as if he were looking for something in Izar or trying to come to terms with something in his own mind. With a nod, Regulus reached into his inner pocket. "Here," the man murmured, passing an envelope to Izar.

The young Black heir took the smooth envelope, staring at his name spelled with perfect black calligraphy.

"Your mother," Regulus drowned out heavily. "She owled me this morning, explaining that she dropped the custody battle. This was inside."

Izar held the envelope with the edges of his fingers. Like spiders' feet, his fingers caressed the envelope, unwilling to grasp it fully. "And you didn't read it?" Izar asked smartly, glancing up at the man with a teasing smile.

Regulus took a large step forward, a grim smile upon his lips. "No. I respect your privacy." Long arms reached out and gripped Izar's shoulders. "I suppose, as _his _political heir, that he wants you to stay here." Something in Regulus' voice darkened. "Is there no way I could convince you to come back home with me?"

Izar forced the bubbling dark emotion away at the man's words. "Of course. I will be home many times during the week. Tonight, considering Monday is the first day of _work _with him, I will need to stay here. Expect me next week."

It was something Izar would fight Voldemort on. Regulus was alone. And not just _alone, _but Regulus felt lonely. It was dangerous for his father to feel such emotions during the war.

Offering one of his trademark crooked smiles, Regulus leaned forward and kissed Izar's temple. "I will see you at the raid tomorrow, then."

Izar nodded, watching as Regulus gathered his charcoal mask on the couch before exiting the room. The young wizard barely had time to stuff the envelope in his pocket before the Dark Lord descended upon him like a precarious shadow.

Crimson eyes danced across the room from the tea to the envelope Izar just put in his pocket.

"Charming," the man spoke with a tone that suggested it was more repulsive than charming.

Izar's small smile for Regulus slowly turned into a wicked smirk at the Dark Lord's company.

"That spectacle sickened me," Voldemort continued snidely, his eyes dancing up and down Izar's body.

"No one _asked _you to stick your ear against the door," Izar countered. "I feel comfortable in my father's presence. We can talk about anything and that includes our fears and weaknesses."

Voldemort made a noise in his throat before turning his back on Izar. "Touching, really, child. But it is time for your first Occlumency lesson with me. And we both know how much you need it."

Izar's lip curled as he watched the man sweep from the room in a swirl of thick black robes. The man's stance was proud and regal, looking out of place in such a dark corridor. Reluctantly, Izar slowly followed at the man's heels, wondering why he hadn't taken Regulus up on his offer to stay with him.

**{Death of Today}**

With a gentle slap to the face, Izar gasped, snapping his eyes open. Blood dripped steadily from his nose and traveled inside his mouth, the coppery-liquid tasting like heaven on his taste buds.

"Why don't we compromise on something…" Izar started off wearily as he sat up off the floor. "I attempt to learn Occlumency from you, and _you _learn to enter minds subtlety and gently, eh?" He blinked up at the Dark Lord. The tall figure had his arms crossed over his chest and crimson eyes peered down his nose at Izar with an unimpressed air.

The younger stood up as graceful as possible, brushing his robes off with an irritated swipe.

"Despite your ancestor's intent for you to remain inexperienced at Occlumency, you _should _be able to push past that barrier and protect your own mind. It is _your _mind. You have the power to conjure as much force as you can possibly imagine." Voldemort slithered closer to him, leaning forward and thrusting his face in Izar's. "Then _force _me out!" he barked before a sudden and excruciating pain erupted behind Izar's eyes.

He struggled to remain conscious and upright as he felt Voldemort's mind brush with his and race across the faux Department of Mysteries. The mirrored doors inside Izar's head trembled and vibrated with Voldemort's entrance before opening willingly for the Dark Lord to explore.

So far, no memories had been dug out for Voldemort's enjoyment. The first and only time the man entered, Izar had been knocked unconscious with the pain. But now… _now _the memories were stirring with Voldemort's aggressive prying.

Izar scrunched his eyes shut, knowing he would hide any reference to Lily and the Horcrux as much as possible.

_The toads and serpents were pink and purple. Izar was forced to watch as they twirled together in a rhythmic beat. It was his hallucinations from the fever he had during the First Task attack. He remembered Voldemort sitting next to him, humoring him by listening to his nonstop slurring. _

Izar felt Voldemort's exasperation before the man dug deeper.

_A small and young Izar sat at the edge of his bed, his legs swinging madly as he stared unhappily at the wall across from him. His bottom lip was pouting and his frail shoulders were curled in on his lithe stature. "Boy!" a man snapped from across the room. _

_Izar turned slowly —angrily— toward the groundskeeper. The pot-bellied man grunted as he struggled to install the new glass window Izar had destroyed. It had been an accident. Izar had been angry at Louis for putting a couple of bugs in his bed and the window had suddenly shattered. He hadn't even _touched _the window! It was an accident. But no one believed him. _

"_What?" Izar snapped crankily. He had been forced inside the room to assist Mr. Walker as punishment. _

_Mr. Walker's lips curled as he pointed his tool at Izar threateningly. "You want to break windows? Eh? Then you have to pick up the pieces." Again, he thrust his tool toward the broken glass around the chair he was standing upon._

_Izar looked at it distastefully before standing up and slowly approaching the wreckage. Through crimped wavy hair, he looked sourly up at the man with wide eyes. "Where are the gloves?" _

_Mr. Walker gave a laugh. "Gloves? You broke this window without gloves you can clean it up without gloves. That'll teach you a lesson, don't you think?" He turned a shoulder on Izar, the word "freak" barely loud enough for the child to catch. _

_Dropping to his knees, Izar glared at the glass before reaching for the largest shard. And just as anyone would predict, his finger caught on the edge. Hissing, the young Izar brought his hand up to his face, inspecting the red- almost black blood dripping down his hand and toward his elbow. Frowning, he moved his finger upside down, watching in gloomy fascination as blood splashed on the glass beneath him. _

Izar struggled under the force of the memory. Inside his head, Voldemort's presence took form of a thick black cloud as it watched his childhood memory. Izar willed the cloud _away_, pushing it with as much force as he could conjure. He didn't want the Dark Lord seeing those memories, the memories that had molded him into the bitter boy he was now.

But perhaps his will wasn't strong enough, for Voldemort's black cloud seemed to solidify as it pushed back at Izar before sliding past him and traveling deeper within his mind.

Flashes of familiar faces flew past Izar's vision, ghosts of his past and crisp images of the present. The Dark Lord was vicious as he dug _deep. _He was looking for something, Izar figured. A memory strong enough that would _make_ Izar push him out of his mind.

And then Voldemort snagged the memory with talon-like fingers from the depths of his mind before pulling it forward. The Black heir saw a flash of grey and yellow and he began to panic. It was a memory that he hadn't even told Regulus about. It was a memory Izar had long-ago buried away.

_She sat on the chair opposite of his bed, smiling angelically at him. Dark curls haloed around her face, bringing attention to the flawless porcelain skin. In Izar's eyes, she looked like an angel. But he wasn't naïve enough to believe as such. Instead, he appreciated her old-world beauty with those perfectly painted crimson lips and the pale blue eyes. Her flattering grey dress was accented by a yellow ribbon around the torso. _

"_You're adorable," she breathed, flashing another smile. "Isn't he adorable, Fredrick?" _

_Izar tore his eyes away from her and toward the man who stood a few feet away. The man offered Izar a smile, nodding sharply. "Handsome fellow, perfect manners. He will fit in well." _

_The woman turned back around, leaning forward to place a well-manicured hand on his knee. Izar felt warm as she smiled at him. He had never had attention like this… motherly attention. "Would you like to come home with us, Izar? Would you like to have a sister?" _

Izar screamed mentally thrusting Voldemort away from the memory with a fierce desperation. The Dark Lord flew backward, the pain in Izar's mind lessening as the man's presence was on the verge of exiting forcibly. But as soon as Izar came in contact with the Dark Lord's mind, a memory that wasn't his own flew past his eyes.

_It was many years in the past. Izar stood next to a boy who looked awkwardly proportioned. His face was flawlessly handsome but his body was painfully thin and gangly—as if he had gone through a growth spurt too quickly for such a young boy. He wore knee-length socks and a washed-out uniform with perfectly arranged black hair. The face was handsome, and yet, there were dark shadows of something… vicious and cruel crossing the innocent features of a child so young. From that expression, Izar could only guess that this was a young Tom Riddle. _

_And in all honesty, he was an adorable little boy. The irony. _

_Tom Riddle fingered a decent-sized rock, staring at the back of two children. They were laughing, glancing back at him. And Izar knew all too well what they were saying without having to hear their words. It was the same expression he was given at his days at the orphanage._

_But it didn't seem to hurt Tom. It only seemed to fuel the darkness within him. With a cruel smile twisting his lips, Tom threw back his arm and pitched the rock at the turned head. "Hey! Royce!" Tom called with glee. _

'_Royce' turned at his name being shouted, only to have the rock nail his face. The boy gave a piercing scream, cupping his eye that soon began to bleed in ridiculous amounts. All the while, throughout his screams, Tom chuckled lowly, a sound not normally heard from a child. _

_Izar took a step back as Tom turned to him, seemingly looking straight up at him. The chuckle died down and the dark eyes lightened into crimson. "You'll have to do better than that, my child. After all, I am a Master Legilimens. And I want to finish that precious memory of yours I started."_

With that, Voldemort lunged back at Izar, forcing him further back in his mind. The pain blossomed as Izar was taken off-guard with the attack.

"_Here, a picture," she smiled, handing Izar a photograph of a girl of around thirteen, only about four years older than Izar. _

_Izar took it, drinking the image of the girl that may soon become his sister. She looked remarkably like her mother. Izar looked up, clutching the photo. "I've always wanted a mother," he breathed. Suddenly, the cold he had felt all these years at the orphanage seemed to vanish as she smiled back at him. He no longer had to be distant and bitter. He no longer had to fend for himself and scheme of revenge. "And a father…" he turned to the man who nodded, pleased. "A family, really." _

_Her hand tightened on his knee. "We will return shortly, Izar. We just need to straighten out the paperwork and you'll be coming home with us." _

_He nodded, barely aware that they left his room. His eyes were glued to the photograph but his thoughts and desires were on the future. _

_He would have a family now. Finally. _

_Izar looked up from the photograph, finally becoming conscious of the couple's long absence. With an exuberant leap, he jumped from the bed and ran toward the door. He looked around the door frame, hoping to see his future parents turning the corner to collect him from the room that had been his hell for over nine years. _

_They were around the corner. But they weren't making any sudden moves to collect him. Instead, the couple was talking to one of the head caretakers. She was speaking lowly, quickly, all the while, the angelic woman clutched her throat in horror. Her husband had his arm around her shoulders, holding her close as he stared at the caretaker with furrowed eyebrows. _

_Izar felt his heart freeze before dropping in the pit of his stomach. He knew what the caretaker was saying. He knew all too well. She was telling them how… how freakish he was. How different. She was likely telling them of the 'accidents' he had around the orphanage. _

_And suddenly, the couple turned to him, noticing his presence for the first time. _

_Her expression would be forever ingrained on his mind as he stared back. She looked at him with such apprehension and confusion, such horror. He felt small. He felt abnormal and so… hurt. _

_Suddenly, the photograph in his hands weighed a ton. It fluttered to the ground as he slowly walked back in his room. _

There was more to the memory. More humiliation, more hurt, but Izar gathered what was left of his fury and mortification and promptly expelled Voldemort from the depths of his mind. The doors to the Department of Mysteries vibrated before slamming shut behind Voldemort's dark cloud. The Dark Lord floated in the forefront of his mind, seemingly considering forcing his way back into the closed doors.

In turn, Izar strengthened his defenses. The faux Department darkened and the mirrored doors morphed into a solid black frame before they began spinning and revolving like the original doors at the Ministry.

Voldemort was driven completely from his mind and Izar found himself collapsing heavily on the floor of the Dark Lord's office.

Pressing his cheek against the cold tile, Izar gathered himself before giving any indication that he was conscious. He had done it. He had finally forced the Dark Lord from his mind. Granted, it had taken an incredibly vulnerable memory, but Izar finally understood how to defend himself. It wasn't so much the physical prowess, but the strengthening of the barriers already in place. He knew it wouldn't be so easy next time, but Izar had _done _it.

A silk cloth caressed his exposed cheek. Izar snapped his eyes open, regretting the action as white and black dots danced across his vision. He had an excruciating headache and his vision was swimming in and out of focus.

With cautiousness, Izar reached up and grabbed hold of the silk handkerchief Voldemort gave him. He held it up to his bleeding nose, keeping his eyes averted from the silent Dark Lord.

For what seemed like hours, Izar sat on the ground, strengthening both his dignity and his emotions as well as embracing his past. He was grateful that the Dark Lord did not speak during his recovery. The man knew him well enough as he respected the silence and understood the memory for what it was. Nothing was needed to be said between the two. They both knew Izar did well with his last attempt at strengthening his mind and they both knew that he would need to practice more to prefect it.

And because their pasts were so much alike, they recognized each other's pain, degradation, and isolation. It was the reason for this upcoming war. Wizards did not belong in the Muggle world.

"Teach me the spell?" Voldemort's voice eventually broke through the stillness.

Izar sat straighter before calmly coming to his feet. Now that he had recovered mentally, he was able to turn his gaze on the Dark Lord. The man was standing behind his large oak desk, leaning on it in order to peer properly at Izar.

"Obviously I've done something right with you," Izar began, wiping away the excess blood and eyeing the powerful wizard across from him. "I've taught you how to _ask _properly and not demand. Now all I have to do is get you to say _please_."

Voldemort stood from his hunched position and narrowed his eyes. "Teach me," he demanded.

Izar smiled thinly at the Dark wizard. "I suppose you're talking about the one I cast today on Avery?" He knew it would eventually happen. Izar couldn't possibly keep all his treasured spells personal, especially when he used them in front of a power-hungry and curious Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord considered, watching Izar as the younger approached him slowly. "The _Cassesium_ you cast on Bellatrix is another I'd like to learn, but I want to see the exact wand motions of the _Animus Lapis. Cassesium _is an excellent spell to use against a single opponent. It will be useful against Dumbledore but not during raids."

Luckily the man was pronouncing the curses smoothly, which surprised Izar because he had only spoken the incantations during battle. Izar had never noticed how fluent Voldemort was in Latin.

With affectionate fingers, Izar caressed his wand and pulled it close to his chest under the Dark Lord's sharp scrutiny. "You begin with the wand pointed upward and secure against your chest cavity," he started, pleased to be away from the topic of Occlumency. "The curse must distinguish between you and your victim. As you intone the _Animus_, you should visualize your victim's bloodstream, the heart, the lungs, anything vital. A golden light should appear at wand point. The next incantation is _Lapis _and…" he trailed off when he caught sight of the Dark Lord from the corner of his eye.

The man's crimson gaze seemed brighter as they were absorbed completely on Izar. A soft smirk curled the edges of Voldemort's mouth as he dismissed Izar's teachings.

Dropping his wand at his side, Izar's glare zeroed on the Dark Lord. "_What_?" he snapped icily. "You're not even paying attention. Did you just ask me to show you the curse in order to _mock _me?"

Cool fingers reached out and cupped his chin. Voldemort stepped closer, his neck craning down toward Izar. "_Fortuna has beatus mihi," _he whispered huskily before claiming Izar's lips.

The younger wizard closed his eyes at the Latin, quickly translating Voldemort's words to English. Surprisingly enough, the words meant 'fate has blessed me'. Izar frowned into the unexpectedly light kiss, but as soon as he put together the man's words, Voldemort pulled away from his mouth.

"That's rather… tender of you…" Izar intoned dryly, recovering from the man's unusual but welcome tactics. Unless, of course… "What have you done?" he demanded suspiciously.

Suddenly, the teasing Voldemort was lost to the dominant Dark Lord as an ominous smirk warped his mouth. The tall wizard took an additional step closer, engulfing Izar in a heated and possessive grip. "Let me indulge," he ordered intensely, his fingers finding and claiming Izar's cheek. The sharp nails played with the supple skin hard enough as a warning but soft enough that they didn't pierce through.

As Izar's back hit the large desk, he realized he was caged in. With his adrenaline high, he boldly leaned into Voldemort's thin frame, feeling an overwhelming sense of lust. Knowing he was playing with a lethal predator, Izar reached up and traced the man's neck with the pads of his fingers.

"No unfinished games," Voldemort hissed out, taking seize of his wrist and holding his hand away. "I want you. All of you."

A hot fire burned across his belly at the man's words but there was also a hint of unwillingness that provided the means to clear his mind. Izar tugged his wrist away from the sturdy clutch and brushed past the Dark Lord. The distance allowed Izar to gain his control back. His lapse of judgment was just proof that he was not ready for the Dark Lord to fully possess him. He would lose himself in the process, becoming completely submissive. He was too inexperienced to take the last step.

Risking a glance at the man, Izar was besieged by the excessive hunger Voldemort was directing his way.

It must have been the excitement of the upcoming raid that got the Dark Lord so… excited.

"I need to do some research," he declared calmly, looking away from the stare as he adjusted his robes. With a sense of professionalism, he glanced back up at the Dark Lord. The man had his eyebrows raised, watching him knowingly. The knowing expression made Izar pause for just a second before he recovered. "There are many things that need to be completed before the climax of the war."

Voldemort sat down behind his desk, tapping his fingers against his lips and offering an all-knowing hum at the back of his throat. "Will that be your excuse all the time, Izar? When things become uncomfortable for you? When you don't want to face something, will you push it aside to go _research_? Avoid it just like the topic of your mother?"

Izar breathed deeply, glowering at the man from across the office. One of the downfalls of being so close to a Dark Lord and knowing his habits and mannerisms meant that the Dark Lord got inside Izar's head and knew just as much about him. If not more.

"What would you like me to say?" Izar retorted sharply. "I don't want to have sex with you yet and I don't want to think about my mother." He exhaled noisily through his lips. "You and Regulus seem to take it upon yourselves to point out my weaknesses. While we're at it, would you like me to point out yours?" He didn't wait for the man to speak. "You're too arrogant and you think everything is your possession."

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, surveying Izar in slight amusement. "Is that all?"

Izar seethed inwardly. "No," he whispered. "You're predictable."

Black eyebrows heightened in mock surprise. "Really?" he drawled. "Is that all?" The man's long fingernails tapped on the top of his desk, bringing Izar's attention to the black ring on his right hand. He had seen it before, on occasion, but Voldemort didn't wear it very often.

"You're a bastard," Izar hissed through his teeth.

"I'm afraid being a bastard has nothing to do with me and everything to do with my parents' marital status when they conceived me." Voldemort continued lounging in his chair as if he were having a joyous time. With a sharp nail, he pointed at Izar. "Which makes _you _just as much as a bastard as me." The Dark Lord flashed a smile full of sharp teeth.

Izar frowned, not at all amused. "Are we finished here, My Lord?" he sniffed superiorly. "I'm afraid I have more important things to take care of than entertaining you like a child until tomorrow's raid."

Voldemort gave a hissing laugh as he watched Izar turn toward the door. "You're afraid of submission." The man called his bluff. "But why should you fear such a thing if we're _both _participating? You're inexperience is what I enjoy, and yet, when I'm forceful and dominant, you instinctively want to meet my experience with your own force. You feel overwhelmed because you're inexperienced and… fearful of losing control and becoming passive." Voldemort waved a dismissive hand in the air. "You need more experience."

"Oh?" Izar took a step away from the door and toward Voldemort. Secretly, he was impressed by the man's insight. For once, the man wasn't being snarky or sardonic. "And are you suggesting that you will take off this ring and allow me to experiment with others?"

It was meant to be a teasing remark, but Voldemort's expression darkened. "I was bluffing," Izar defended. "What are you suggesting, exactly?"

Voldemort tapped his fingers against the desk once again before pushing his chair away slightly. "Come here."

Izar was torn between snorting and telling the Dark Lord off. Instead, he found himself walking around the large desk and toward a lounging Dark Lord. He eyed the man suspiciously as he came to stop at the man's knees. Hopefully, whatever the man had planned, it didn't involve another facial. Izar wouldn't be as forgiving as before.

"Take control over me," Voldemort spoke crisply. "I will remain compliant."

Izar blinked. "You can't be serious." Sadistic glee warped Izar's chest and stomach as he placed his hands on either armrest of Voldemort's chair. "You won't use your hands or teeth… or anything?"

The Dark Lord was detached. "No."

"For how long?"

"A minute, nothing more."

Izar leaned back, frowning. "A minute? I can't do _anything _within a minute. Five." The unimpressed stare he got in return made Izar back down. "Two minutes then, and you have to put down your glamours."

Voldemort was looking less than pleased at the arrangement, but without a wand or word, scales appeared across his neck and a fang caught his bottom lip. "You're wasting your two minutes, child. Savor this, because it will be the first and last time I will agree to this."

"We'll see," Izar whispered back, growing aroused at the passive Dark Lord. He could do anything. Explore a body he was never allowed without a struggle of dominance and become familiar with it.

Unbuttoning the man's black shirt, Izar admired the black scales brushing across his sides and around the pelvic bone. Izar traced his fingers over them, enjoying the tensing reaction he got from Voldemort. The man wasn't muscular or ripped with definition, but the fact that _this _was a man who harbored so much intelligence and power made him stunningly beautiful. He was untouchable to everyone but Izar.

Becoming valiant, Izar leaned down and placed his lips on the skin right above the button to Voldemort's trousers and kissed. He made sure to brush his forearm and fingers across Voldemort's growing erection just to tease the man. A sound rumbled deep within Voldemort's chest, causing Izar to spare him a glance. The red eyes were watching him with a spark within their depths. He rivaled a dangerous caged beast, intent on lunging and attacking as soon as he was out of his prison.

Izar paused, realizing that this conformity may not have been the best idea. What was worse than an aroused Dark Lord was a Dark Lord who had to stew and scheme patiently in that hot, painful arousal. There would be repercussions after the two minutes were up.

So Izar would enjoy them as long as he could.

He splayed his fingers across the man's exposed torso, taking care in lingering around the scales and nipples. He offered the man a coy smirk as he leaned against the thin frame and licked his collarbone. Voldemort continued watching impassively, the glow to those crimson eyes only becoming brighter.

Leaning back and scratching the man's legs through his pants, Izar straightened up before straddling the man's lap. He made sure to keep his arse just slightly above Voldemort's arousal, not giving the man the pleasure of friction.

He reached forward, pulling the unruly black hair out of the binder and watching as it framed Voldemort's face. Izar took great pleasure in touching and pulling at the soft hair as he leaned forward and kissed alongside Voldemort's strong and tensed jaw.

This was pleasing, very much so, however, Izar realized that it was more thrilling and arousing when Voldemort met Izar's assault with his own. When they came together in a battle of dominance, nothing could compare to that passion and overwhelming lust. It was more enjoyable when there was a challenge of subduing Voldemort.

And he realized Voldemort had planned for Izar to comprehend this.

Crimson eyes traveled from his neck to his face and the man smirked as if he knew Izar's train of thought. Giving a grunt, Izar curled his fingers in Voldemort's hair, pulling the man's face closer in a bruising kiss.

It hadn't been nearly two minutes, but strong arms quickly took him captive, binding him close to the Dark Lord's lithe body. Izar broke the kiss as Voldemort stood up and dropped his back painfully on the desk. A few fragile trinkets crashed to the floor, but Voldemort paid them no heed as he covered Izar with his body and devoured his neck.

Gasping in exhilaration, Izar rolled his eyes upwards and clutched at the man's shoulders.

And then someone knocked on the door sharply.

Voldemort paused, issuing a quiet hiss in displeasure as he stared down at Izar. "Quietly put yourself together."

Izar gave a tense nod waiting for Voldemort to get off him before silently jumping from the desk. He straightened his robes and magically put together the fallen items from the desk. As soon as he turned back around, Voldemort was already sitting in his chair, appearing regal and unruffled.

"Enter," Voldemort called lazily, his creature-side hidden once again.

Straightening, Izar turned to the doorway and considered the group entering. "If that's all, My Lord?" he asked for dismissal as the majority of the Inner-Circle entered without their Death Eater masks. According to the grandfather clock, it was exactly seven at night. This was obviously a planned meeting and Izar hated the man for _knowing _they had company while they… partook in primitive desires.

"No," Voldemort tsked. "Your presence is required."

The Dark Lord settled back, considering the group before him. Most of the Inner-Circle members bowed at their waist before taking position behind Izar. The Black heir watched as Severus Snape entered behind Lucius Malfoy. Bellatrix was present, her contagious grin spreading wider at the sight of Izar. Her husband and his brother stood next to her as silent bodyguards, their expression holding no source of warmth or well-being. Barty Crouch Jr. met his stare, his tongue flicking out similar to a serpent's.

Izar raised an eyebrow, not intimidated in the least at their stares. Dolohov and the oldest Rosier were also present, their attitude toward Izar clear on their faces.

"I've called you all here to inform you of your mission," Voldemort began indolently. His eyes were mainly on Izar as he patted a folder in front of him. "There comes a time where I may wish to test a follower's worth and loyalty. Your time has come to show me that brilliance of yours, Mr. Black."

Izar withheld a reaction to the abrupt challenge. There had been no indication that Voldemort was scheming of a mission for him.

"Your mission is to assassinate a prominent political figure in France. You do not know him. But he knows you very well." Voldemort opened the folder and pushed it across the desk toward Izar. "He was the enforcer behind the attacks during the Triwizard Tournament. He sent his daughter, Airi Roux, to carry out these orders. You remember Airi Roux, don't you, Mr. Black?"

Izar never looked at the folder, his attention directed only on the Dark Lord. "She was the wife to the French Minister, Serge Roux. Yes, I remember her." _And her mauled corpse. _Izar also remembered landing on her lifeless bosom as the Dementors attacked him during the Third Task. She was the beautiful and young Asian, married to the old Serge Roux.

Voldemort nodded once. "Her father was the man behind the attacks."

Izar eventually glanced down at the folder, staring at the photograph on top. A man stood in the frame with shocking blond hair tied to the nape of his neck and dark eyes. He had to be an older man in his late forties, but he looked as young as Regulus. This was the man behind Izar's attacks. The Black heir knew France was somehow tied in the attacks, but he hadn't known the name of the individual. The man didn't look like much, just an egotistical prick.

"His name is Acelin Morel, but his followers address him as _Lord _Morel." Voldemort smirked. "He has a grudge against Britain and Undersecretary Riddle."

"Lord Morel?" Izar repeated, searching his mind. "The _Daily Prophet _hinted that there was a rising Dark Lord in France. Is this him?"

Voldemort chuckled. "You could say that. However, Acelin is not disguising himself as a Dark Lord. He's publicly recruiting and sprouting out his opinions to anyone willing to listen to his dry babble. He has yet to launch an attack on those he deems below him, but the Ministry is hesitant all the same. Morel holds power in the government and over society. I want him dead. Not only has he challenged me so boldly with your attacks but there cannot be two Dark Lords at one time. I don't want anyone to think we are… co-partners," Voldemort said in repugnance.

Izar stared at the photograph, watching as Acelin Morel smirked and waved within the frame.

"I understand that there is a raid tomorrow and you must keep up pretenses with the Unspeakables and the image of Riddle's political heir. However, I believe you can handle Morel. His power isn't nearly as large as his vault. He is _weak_ and an insult to me for claiming the title of a Dark Lord." Voldemort reached across the desk and imbedded his nail over Morel's forehead. "I will not accompany you, nor will Undersecretary Riddle. But I will allow a small amount of my Inner-Circle to escort you to France just in case you run into his… _followers_. The assassination should be held a few days after the raid on Monday."

Izar turned to glimpse at the group behind him before turning back to Voldemort. "And by _escort_, what does that entitle, exactly? Will they be pulling the strings because they are of higher ranking?"

The Dark Lord smiled, pleased with Izar's question. "By escort, I mean they will accompany you. You will be the brains and force behind this attack, Izar. This is _your _test. For this one mission they will respect you and your demands." Red eyes fleetingly left Izar to look beyond his shoulder at his followers. In his stare, it was a clear warning for them to follow his instruction. "Besides the obvious candidates, I _will _have eyes on all of you." The man smiled, as if pleased that he had secret allies. "Will you accept this mission?" he asked to Izar.

Staring at the photograph, Izar gave a sharp nod, a smile curving his lips. "I will be more than pleased to accept the mission, My Lord."

Revenge was always sweet.

**{Death of Today}**

Light bulbs exploded as the photographers snapped a picture of the man stepping up to the podium. The reporters pushed and shoved their way toward the podium, hoping to get a front row position. This was, after all, a major occurrence in the wizarding world.

The atmosphere was thick with revolution and transformation. Many wizards and witches felt both awed and unsettled as they heard the clock strike midnight. The loud gong counted to twelve, reminding everyone in attendance that it was a new day and a new period in history.

Something big was going to happen. Even the weather outside was swollen with heavy clouds—a warning of an upcoming storm. Lightning forked throughout the skies, but the thunder remained silent and the rain remained prisoner inside the clouds. Not a drop fell, afraid to start too early. But the air was thick, too thick and too warm for a night in November.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Minister Fudge called for attention.

No one paid him any heed as they talked amongst themselves. Even children were out of bed at this late hour, yanked from their homes by their impatient parents. Through the children's eyes, they knew something was bothering their parents. They didn't know what it was, but this election was important. Their parents were fearful for their lives and they believed that, somehow, one person elected into office could save them.

But if they were so excited for the election, why did the children still sense the anxiety coming from their parents?

A strained chuckle escaped Fudge's lips to anyone who listened. "Let me introduce to you, your new Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour!"

From the shadows, a tall and muscular man limped forward, his scarred face set in stone. Even with the onslaught of flashing lights, Rufus remained sturdy. He shook hands with the plump and flustered Mr. Fudge before turning around and facing the crowd with a lift to his chin.

Minister Scrimgeour stood there, bracing himself against the shouts and yells, marveling at the fear and hope coming off the crowd in waves.


	45. Part II Chapter 13

**I didn't get a chance to respond to reviews last chapter. But thanks to those of you who took the time to give feedback (and reassure me about last chapter). **

**Chapter Thirteen**

On Monday morning the Ministry seemed to be in organized chaos. Employees shuffled hastily through the corridors and raced up and down the stairs, barely pausing when they bumped into another coworker or lost a high heel. Pale-violet paper airplanes, carrying interdepartmental memos, raced through the floors of the Department. Most of the enchanted planes zoomed quickly by and high enough above the heads of the employees. But some unfortunate victims had to dodge before they got struck in the face.

Izar pulled his hood up, watching the commotion through uninterested eyes. They were insignificant to him and their anxiety was making him uptight. A new Minister was chosen last night at midnight and now the whole Ministry was in an uproar, altering things, transforming Departments, running errands, and trying to complete Rufus Scrimgeour's orders.

According to the _Prophet_, Rufus expressed his desire for change and a more secure government. Izar scrutinized the man's speech with a critical eye, quickly reading between the lines and realizing that Rufus wanted to try to detoxify the Ministry from fraud and deceit. Izar had to admire the man's zealous desire to cleanse the Ministry, but he had to be realistic.

The Ministry housed politics. And politics would always use deceit and power to their own advantage. Catching them would be more or less impossible. Politicians used layers of hands and puppets to get what they wanted. They would never commit the fraud themselves because it could trace back to them with ease.

But judging from the chaos around the Ministry this morning, Izar knew Rufus Scrimgeour was trying his _damnest _to cleanse the Ministry.

Izar climbed down the last flight of stairs that would bring him to the Department of Mysteries. At least his Department would be a semblance of calm and serenity. It was almost eight o'clock, meaning that Izar had arrived at the Ministry with time to spare thanks to Riddle and his insistence. The man himself had left incredibly early, but was _generous _enough to leave behind an obnoxious House-elf that wouldn't stop poking Izar until he woke up on time.

As Izar stepped onto the black tiled floor of the Department of Mysteries, his hopes for a calm morning with the Unspeakables were shattered.

Up ahead, black-clad Unspeakables were clumped together in the corridor. The total number of Unspeakables wasn't very large, perhaps a total of five to ten wizards in each Division. The Death Chamber itself only housed Lily and one other male partner. The Hall of Prophecy and Space Chamber were the other two Divisions that didn't employ as many Unspeakables as the others did, leveling the total number of Unspeakables to around fifty.

And it appeared as if most of them were gathered together this morning.

Izar approached the group, narrowing his eyes at the number of bodies in his way.

"Ministry take-over," a man grunted in his ear.

Izar turned, noticing the rotten teeth and oily hair sticking out from beneath the hood before he could identify the tall figure next to him. "Augustus," Izar greeted smoothly.

Rookwood exposed his teeth in a fanatical grin before offering a nod in return. The First tiered Death Eater had always been the most aloof follower out of Voldemort's Inner-Circle. "The Minister is speaking to us in the Death Chamber. If you ask me, he's going to tear this Department down before rebuilding. They fear us, the lot of them."

As he said this, the group of Unspeakables began to make their way into the far door on the right. Izar grimaced, not at all uptight about seeing the Death Chamber again, but incredibly anxious and ruffled about the fact that the Ministry was sticking their nose in their work.

He didn't think Rufus Scrimgeour would have moved this quickly.

Izar and Rookwood entered the cold Death Chamber together, both intent to join the others down below near the pit and close to the prominent figure standing boldly next to the Veil. The longer they walked down the stairs and closer they came to the Veil, Izar felt an ice-like throb in his mind. Indistinguishable whispers hissed through his head in an angry tenor, a warning to Izar what lay beyond the Veil.

But because his mind was being affected, Izar became suspicious that there were still a few pieces of Cygnus' spirit planted inside his mind. There was one door in his mind Lily hadn't closed in time when Cygnus had attacked. That one door could be housing a shard of Cygnus.

He didn't know the consequences of that and he may never notice anything at all. But it was something to keep an eye out for.

A light snort caught Izar's attention before he could sit down on the second row bench. Turning, he met eyes with taunting brown. "Looks like your body finally caught up to your ego, Black."

Izar raised his eyebrows, raking his mind for the identity of the young man behind him. It had been awhile since his employment with the Unspeakables and he could dimly remember the other employees. As Izar brought himself back in time, he finally grasped the identity of the man behind him. His name was Conner Oran, a Mudblood and the youngest Unspeakable after Izar. In his early twenties, he had the maturity of a young teen.

Jealousy was most likely the cause of Conner's attitude toward him, but Izar could see something else shifting beneath those brown eyes as they surveyed his form—an emotion Izar would rather not dwell or think on. "And I see you were finally able to grow a patch of peach fuzz. How long did that take you? A years worth?" Izar asked in all seriousness, motioning to the shadow of a goatee on the young man's face.

It was more than simple peach fuzz, but Izar could tell Conner was the type of man who struggled with growing hair on his face and became embarrassed over it. There were patches of smooth skin along his jaw line, bringing attention to the otherwise rugged goatee.

Conner flushed pink around his cheekbones before glaring at the Black heir. Before he could retort, Izar dismissed the boy with a cold shoulder and sat down, but not before he caught sight of dark crimson hair. _She _sat a few feet away, looking at Rufus with an unreadable expression.

Before she could catch him staring, Izar forced himself to look forward, knowing he had yet to read the letter she sent him through Regulus.

"Most of you are settled and present," Rufus began, standing near the Veil, but certainly no where close. He kept his distance while his stance cried power and control. Yellow eyes glowed dissonantly in the unlit atmosphere as they danced across the Unspeakables in the audience. "Let's begin, shall we?"

Murmurs spread across the Unspeakables, the mood in the Death Chamber turning just as cold as their surroundings. Further up ahead, in the first row, the large body of Owen Welder sat, his orange beard a startling contrast to all things black, white, and grey. His hands were curled over his belly and his expression clearly read how somber he was about this Ministry invasion.

"For many years, all of you have dedicated yourself to improving the Wizarding world with your researching and experimenting," Rufus started, his voice reaching even the scattered few who chose to sit far above the pit. "Minister Fudge allowed free reign over your work and gave the minimum amount of expense toward your field of research. I would like to offer more financing to the Department of Mysteries."

Oh, Rufus was _good_. Izar nodded sharply, a grin stretching his face. What better way to offer bad news when it was sugar-coated with a treat? Money was always tight in the Department of Mysteries and most Unspeakables had to forgo most of their research because funding was tight. The dimmer Unspeakables would only hear the word 'more financing' and become smitten with Scrimgeour despite the bearer of bad news that was likely to come next…

"Because I would like to offer more funding for this Department, a few changes will need to be made with the array of everyday operations." Rufus motioned toward several wizards sitting in a row behind him on the bench. They were all dressed in crisp red robes with a large Ministry logo on their chest. All of them had scrolls of parchment and quick-quills ready to record hastily if needed. "I have put together a Board of experienced wizards and witches who will roam the Department of Mysteries and examine the projects being done by all of you. They will see to it if there needs to be more funding for a project or if changes are required."

And what the Minister really meant was that he hired a group of incredibly trusted wizards to spy on the Unspeakables. If there was a project being worked on that was deemed too dangerous, Rufus would have the power to yank it from the Department.

Izar sat stiffly, rage tightening his stomach. He enjoyed his privacy and it was being invaded upon. Because of the invasion, he could feel his fascination with Scrimgeour tarnishing. However, he had to admit that Scrimgeour was making a smart move. Izar just didn't want to be the target of that move.

Rufus stroked his chin, his scars stretching with the action. He didn't seem to be effected by the whispers spreading riotously across the audience. "Each research project will also need to be approved by me or a member of my staff before you begin. And all inventions must be registered before they are in their final stages of completion. If a project or invention is returned without approval or registration, it will be banned from the Department and destroyed."

The whispers grew into dark murmurs but Rufus kept his stance strong. He wore a poker-face that housed dangerous shadows behind those yellow eyes. This was an ex-Auror. A man who couldn't care a less about nice-guy images if it meant for order and delegation.

Amongst the uproar, Izar sat quietly, his rage high, but there was also a bit of humor within him. Scrimgeour just made enemies out of several Unspeakables. And while they might not rebel, they _would _listen to someone else who could give back their privacy.

And that someone would be Tom Riddle.

Perhaps this _organization _within the Department of Mysteries was a good thing. Because when Tom Riddle stepped out of the political shadows and into the spotlight, he would make people approach him and feed from his palm. The man was just brilliant like that. Rufus Scrimgeour would be replaced and a masquerading Dark Lord would take his place, altering the world into a society he saw fit.

"Thank you for your cooperation in this plan to make the Department of Mysteries a more advanced and thriving workplace," Rufus all but roared with a short bow. As he straightened, he motioned back toward the red-robed wizards. "If you have any questions, you may bring it up with the Board."

With that, the man limped from the pit and made his way up the stairs, waving off the Unspeakables who stood up and shouted a question or concern.

Izar remained sitting, a bitter smile crossing his lips. He needed the raid tonight. His pent up anger needed a good outlet.

**{Death of Today}**

"You appear forlorn," Severus drawled.

Regulus crouched in front of the Back tapestry, tapping his wand against the wall in hopes to reconstruct it. He had spent all morning and afternoon on it and there was no such luck. Just an hour ago, he finally got the scorch marks to disappear, but the damage was still glaringly present. Kreacher had attempted to heal the wall with his magic, but the Dark magic stayed stubborn, marring the faces of the past and present Blacks.

"Is that so?" Regulus murmured in question, seemingly putting all his attention on the wall and ignoring Severus. But it was quite the opposite. The man was impossible to ignore.

The Potions Master had just arrived at Grimmauld, much to the surprise of Regulus. The raid would be beginning soon and Severus had taken leave from Hogwarts because of it. Stopping by Grimmauld was an extra stop Severus would have had to plan for. It was rather… flattering. They had exchanged a few owls over the summer, both touching on safe topics like the war or Izar's well-being. But they never broached the topic of their relationship.

"Izar is living with the Dark Lord, I presume?"

Regulus sighed, slamming his fist against the tapestry before turning toward the tall figure of Severus. "He is, being forced, that is." He stood up, wiping his palms against his robes. Regulus would keep silent about his assumptions of a sexual relationship between Voldemort and Izar. He had asked Severus about his son and their Lord's relationship the first time they met after fifteen years, but that was all.

Severus, draped in his Death Eater robes, surveyed Regulus with dark, unfathomable eyes. "You do realize," the man started in a silky tone. "You are out of hiding, correct?"

Regulus leaned against the table, frowning at the older wizard. "Of course I do," he murmured. "What are you getting at, Severus?"

The dark man spun around, studying the destroyed Black tapestry. "You simply act as if you are still hiding from the Dark Lord. You stay in this… dreary home and preoccupy yourself with mundane projects. I'm more than certain that your mind is occupied with only your son."

Regulus blanched, sneering. "My son is important to me," he whispered.

"And you have every right to think as such," Severus retorted calmly. "But you are consumed with him, holding on to him too tightly. He's growing into an adult and becoming the Dark Lord's number one successor. You cannot sit around here and wait for him to entertain you." Severus looked over his shoulder at Regulus. "You need to start _living_ again. You no longer need to hide."

Regulus stared back at Severus, unable to conjure up a quick response. It was true that he wasn't very active or social, but that didn't mean he felt isolated.

"And what if I _enjoy _my solitude, Severus?" Regulus snapped back. "The war hasn't even begun, and yet, it's already taken so much out of me. What if I'd like to stay in the shadows? I don't want to work in the Ministry and I have little enjoyment for any other occupation. Izar is making a name out of the Black family and that is all that is important."

Breathing deeply, he met those black eyes head on. "And what of you, Severus?" Regulus countered softly, his anger smothering. He took a step closer to Severus, reaching out to curl his hand around the man's bicep. Surprisingly, the older wizard didn't turn or pull away. "You always hated children and yet, you teach. Brewing was a passion, but Dark Arts was even more so. And you find yourself turned down for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position every year. Not to mention, you're a _spy, _playing both sides of the playing field, serving two masters. Don't you think you've already sacrificed enough? Don't you understand my need for solitude?"

Severus pulled his arm away, only to place both hands on Regulus' shoulders. He leaned in close, his breath tickling the fine hairs on Regulus' face. "You are too young and too lively to hide yourself away. Don't become me."

"You're too stubborn," Regulus breathed. "We are alike, more than you'd like to admit."

"If I don't survive this war, I must make certain that I point out your mistakes before it's too late."

Regulus frowned, searching Severus. "What makes you say that, Severus? Why don't you think you'll survive this war?" Severus' expression darkened and a terrible realization dropped in Regulus' stomach. "Exactly…what side are you on?" he whispered forebodingly.

Before Severus could respond, their Dark Mark began to burn fiercely.

It was time for the raid.

It was time for Lord Voldemort to make his presence known.

**{Death of Today}**

Godric's Hollow.

A rather symbolic place to attack, Izar thought as he stared at the gates before him. Not only did it once house Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin's enemy, but it also housed a blend of Muggles _and _wizards. Many Muggle-borns and their Muggle parents moved here when they found out they carried the ability to cast magic. But there were also Muggles here that were oblivious to magic and the threat it carried.

Voldemort picked a brilliant place to announce his arrival to Britain.

Izar was surrounded by the majority of the Second tier Death Eaters as Voldemort and his Inner-Circle entered the gates of Godric's Hollow. It didn't take too long for the chaos to begin as Fiendfyre curses were tossed carelessly toward the houses, burning them instantly and drawing their occupants outside. The acidic green Dark Mark was cast into the air, rising into the dark sky amongst the piercing screams of the residents in the village.

This was the torture and killing stage. Izar wasn't as eager as the other Death Eaters were. He hated Muggles but he also looked down upon torture. If he needed to kill, he wouldn't hesitate. And if he needed to be creative under the Dark Lord's eyes, he would cast a spell that would do damage but essentially kill the victim with one curse.

But when he was in a crowd as big as _this _and as blood-hungry, he could fade into the background and wait for the next stage of this raid— which was likely to come shortly. The Ministry would be alerted and Izar was hungry to take out his vengeance on men and women who could defend themselves properly. Slaughtering vulnerable men who had no choice of defending themselves was a small, if not pitiful defeat.

Shoulders bumped into him as Death Eaters sprinted past and deeper into the neighborhood. Through his heavy mask, Izar watched them go, wondering why he couldn't be like them. He had more reasons to hate Muggles than they did. His dark past at the orphanage was reason enough, and yet, he found himself unwilling to torture and kill merrily.

He blamed it on his mother's genes. Even Regulus was hungry for gore, for blood.

As he fell behind the crowd of Death Eaters, he noticed one woman racing toward the gates of the neighborhood. No one had noticed her and she would have been free if Izar hadn't spotted her. She was likely Muggle because she held no wand in her clutched fists. Izar raised his wand, narrowing his eyes on her back for better aim.

"_Avada Kedavra," _he whispered.

The Killing Curse was like a glowing green laser as it shot through the night and struck her in the back. He watched unemotionally as her body collapsed heavily to the ground. Not too soon after, a mother and child were running hand and hand toward the gates of Godric's Hollow. The little girl couldn't have been more than four as her chubby legs tried to keep up with her desperate mother.

Frowning, Izar killed the mother just as heartlessly as he killed the woman before. She went down swiftly, pulling the girl with her from her dead weight.

Through the slits of his mask, Izar watched keenly as the little girl cried out desperately, pushing at her mother's shoulders to waken her. Her pleading cries tore at Izar's mind and he raised his wand once again, killing the child with the same curse he used with the other two victims. The little thing slumped over her mother, her tears still falling down her cheeks and staining her mother's unmoving bosom.

Standing near the gates was proving to be a prime position for killing running Muggles and wizards. And yet, for reasons unknown to him, he found himself turning his back on the gate and slowly making his way down the paths of the destroyed Godric's Hollow. Screams and frantic pleading burned his sensitive ears. Izar forced himself to push away his sentimentality and take enjoyment in hearing it.

All the while, he looked forward to having the Ministry arrive. What Izar _really _enjoyed was challenges and adrenaline-rising battles. His cruel and aggressive Black genes came out when he was battling opponents who could fight back. He always felt pleasure in cutting down his enemies and making them _bleed _and suffer. And to know they could have saved themselves was another thrilling attribute.

Up ahead, Izar spied the Dark Lord standing on a front yard. It wasn't surprising to see a group of Death Eaters around him, watching him with wide and admiring eyes. But what really caught Izar's eye was Voldemort's expression. Pure insanity was written across his face as he tortured the Muggle man at his feet. Crimson eyes were all but glowing with sadistic _glee _and the smile that stretched his lips was nothing that Izar had ever seen on the man before.

The Muggle at Voldemort's feet gave high-pitched screams, a sound Izar knew would never come from the man unless he was in extreme pain.

Izar had no problem with the Dark Lord's obsession for Muggle torture and he did not feel sorry for the Muggle at his feet. But it _did _unsettle Izar with how much Voldemort could lose himself with the thrill of torture. The intelligent and controlled wizard Izar knew was lost to the raving Dark Lord. If there was ever a time an enemy needed to kill Voldemort, they would have a greater chance at succeeding when the Dark Lord was absorbed on his prize.

Once the Muggle man was silenced with a blood-choking gurgle, Voldemort looked up, over the heads of the Death Eaters, and locked eyes with Izar. Before any silent interaction could be made, the Black heir turned his back on the Dark Lord, not wanting to be near the man during the raid. Izar was in no mood to torture tonight.

Suddenly, a man came panting closer to him, racing toward the gates as if it were his safe haven. Izar considered the heavy-set man before sticking out his leg and tripping the Muggle before he could go any further. The Muggle gave a cry, scraping his bare knees on the pavement before quickly turning on his back to stare up at Izar.

"Please," the man gasped. "Please…"

Izar's eyes widened in mock sympathy. "Please, what?"

The man huffed shallowly, as if his lungs were struggling to support the amount of oxygen he was taking in. "Spare me, please. I don't mean any harm. I never did anything… Please, please."

Feeling the Dark Lord's eyes on his back, Izar leaned forward and touched his gloved hand to the man's forehead. "I'll tell you what," Izar murmured, his voice coming out muffled from his mask. "If you can make it to those gates alive, I won't hunt you down. You'll be home free…"

The man's lips gaped at him like a fish out of water.

"My patience runs _thin_," Izar hissed. "Run, you fat bastard, or I'll slice your innards open. You'll be the skinniest you've ever been."

His last words weren't even heard by the Muggle as the man jumped to his feet and sprinted toward the gates. Izar was sure it was the fastest the man had ever moved in his life. Cocking his head to the side, he watched in morbid fascination as the Muggle bypassed several Death Eaters and exited the gates of the community. It hadn't been expected, he would have thought the Muggle would have been stopped.

Oh well. It was sure to get Voldemort's knickers in an unsightly bundle. And that was all that mattered.

Izar turned down another street, away from Voldemort and the majority of the flames. Most of the Death Eaters were taking the home owners outside on the front yard to torture and kill. It was purely for show, to prove to their comrades that _they _could cause pain just as well as any of the Inner-Circle Death Eaters.

The majority of the grass in Godric's Hollow was stained a red and brown, a far cry from its original green. It appeared that most of the Death Eaters on this street were in the Third tier. This had to be a Muggle section of Godric's Hollow. None of the occupants were fighting back, save for their screaming and pleads.

He passed one home and found himself pausing, watching the proceedings. It was a woman and half-dead man, both being dragged from the house. Behind them, a boy that was likely their son was thrown carelessly on the front yard. Izar found his attention being drawn by the child. The boy couldn't be any older than six with dark blond hair and wide dark eyes. Children were always pathetic-looking, but this boy was even more so. He was bony and looked utterly vulnerable.

And yet, the boy sat there calmly, solemnly, as the wizards around him kicked his mother and chuckled. Any other child would be crying and sniffing his snot from his running nose.

Suddenly, the boy looked up at Izar. Blinking owlishly, the child offered a small smile and an even smaller wave. It was nothing but his fingers moving at his side, but Izar spotted it anyway. There was _something _about the boy that put Izar on edge and made him take note.

He walked forward, not realizing he was doing so until he came to a stop next to the Death Eaters playing with the mother. The father was already dead, choked by his own vomit. And the child still did not burst into tears.

"I knew you would come," the boy whispered to Izar. His smile wavered as he peered closely at the Black heir, as if looking for something to identify Izar. "The teenager with pretty eyes."

Izar sneered behind his mask, torn between killing the boy and hexing him for calling his eyes _pretty_. Yet, he was beaten to it as the Death Eater holding the boy's shoulder pushed him further into the ground and cast a strong _Crucio_. Izar stepped back, eyeing to proceedings with a heavy grimace. The boy's delicate features twisted horribly and a blood curdling scream escaped his wet lips. Desperate dark eyes looked up at Izar, gasping for oxygen between screams.

Something ugly twisted in Izar's gut. There was something unique about this boy and Izar felt responsible for protecting this… stranger. "Stop," Izar hissed, stepping forward and curling his fingers around the Third tier's wrist. "I know the child."

With his interference, the _Crucio _stopped, relieving the boy. The Death Eater looked up at Izar, his eyes almost invisible through narrowed eyes. "Get your own toy," the man spat.

Resisting a sigh at the man's melodramatic antics, Izar placed his palms on the man's chest before curling his fingers into the heavy cloak and pulling him close. "Go find another vulnerable and defenseless Muggle. This one is mine. Do you understand me?" Izar spoke icily. He stared the man down, putting all of his irritation from tonight's proceedings into his glare.

The Death Eater stiffened before pulling himself away and leaving the front yard in a huff. Izar watched him go before turning to the other Death Eaters, daring them to stand in his way. As if sensing his overwhelming displeasure and impatience, they turned their back on him, enjoying the execution of the mother.

Izar felt no pity for her. He also felt no pity for the child.

Or, at least he told himself as much as he glanced down at the boy, noticing the heavy tremors shaking the frail form. It was a Muggle, possibly a Muggle-born, but nonetheless, a disgrace to the Wizarding world. He should kill the boy. It was one less scum to worry about and Voldemort would become enraged if he found out about this.

Nevertheless, Fate always played a hand in everyone's destiny. Sometimes, it would make its victim act out of norm just to seal the destiny laid out for them.

Izar breathed irritably behind his mask and crouched down, hesitantly putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. He tried to offer comfort through the boy's pain, but he knew he failed horribly. Instead of making a further fool of himself, he pulled his hand away and leaned closer to the boy's whimpering form. "How did you know I was coming?"

The boy winced at his cold tone, but nonetheless, continued to stare into Izar's eyes as if it helped ground him. "D-dreams," the boy whispered brokenly, tears clinging to his lashes. His round and cherub head was pressed to the ground as if to alleviate the pain.

Izar sat back on his heels, considering the boy in front of him. It was possible that this boy was a Seer, and in turn, a Mudblood, but he could also be a gifted Muggle. Having his magic-sensitivity would do _wonders _at a time like this.

What the hell was he going to do with the kid?

The boy didn't even a bat a lash at his mother's dying screams or the peculiar sight of men in robes and carrying wands. He just continued to stare unnervingly at Izar. A chill crept down Izar's spine as he stared back. The boy's expression was similar to Tom Riddle's expression at the orphanage. It was an expression Izar wore at times. He most likely used it as a child as well; he just couldn't remember that far back.

"Why aren't you screaming for them to stop hurting mother?" Izar pondered out loud.

Without hesitation, the boy's bottom lip trembled. "She deserved it."

Izar stood up. "Has she hurt you?" he responded briskly, finally understanding the boy's lack of empathy for his family.

"No, but dad did," was all the boy said in response as another tremor shook his body.

Leaving the boy here was out of the question. Bringing him back to Voldemort's base was _definitely _not an option. Which left Grimmauld Place. Izar could apparate there in seconds and come right back to the raid. Izar certainly wasn't going to leave the raid now. He hadn't gotten what he came here for. The other Death Eaters sated their pent up frustrations and anger by torturing Muggles, Izar needed a similar therapeutic cure. And that was only going to happen when the Ministry arrived.

If they arrived.

"Come here," Izar ordered, trying to soften his tone. Apparently, from the boy's frown, he hadn't achieved it.

The child attempted to move, but he fell back down to the ground, his young body struggling with the after-affects of the _Crucio. _Izar pressed his lips together in a tight frown before kneeling next to the boy, reluctantly curling his arms around the little frame before disapparating away from Godric's Hollow.

As he landed in the foyer of the Black home, he stood from his knees, noting the boy had wrapped his arms tightly around his neck. Izar made a noise of disagreement in the back of his throat but decided to let it go. The boy was holding on to him frantically, as if Izar were his long-lost lifeline.

"Kreacher!" he yelled, already climbing the stairs to the room he had used earlier this summer.

Almost immediately, as if Voldemort were tracking his whereabouts, his Dark Mark seared with pain. Izar tried to ignore it, despite it burning just as badly as the first time he was Marked. The man was furious, beyond furious.

"Master Izar," Kreacher bowed down low. "It's good to see—"

Izar continued walking, turning a deaf ear to the creature's greeting. "I need to ask you a favor, Kreacher." The House-elf always preferred Izar 'asking' rather than 'ordering'. "Watch this child; make sure he stays in _this _room and doesn't leave. Make sure no one enters this room except for me or with my permission. Make sure he doesn't get _into _anything."

He entered his bedroom with wide strides, eager to get back to the raid as soon as possible. His Mark, if possible, grew hotter, sharper.

"But… a _Mudblood_!" the House-elf cried in dismay. "Dirties the notorious house of Black…"

Izar attempted to deposit the boy on the bed, but the thin arms were surprisingly strong and unyielding around his neck. He was left crouching awkwardly over the bed, tugging at the waist of the boy. "Let _go_," Izar growled. He could easily overpower the child, but figured he'd rather not pull the boy's arms out of their sockets. However, it _would _save time…

"You promise to come back?" the child whispered innocently into his ear.

Swallowing his impatience, Izar nodded. "I promise," he grounded out evenly. When he came back from the raid, he had no idea what he would do with the boy. For one thing, he knew he had to hide this from the Dark Lord. After which, he was clueless to all logical plans.

But now wasn't the time to think about a Muggle.

The boy let his neck go and plopped on the mattress, blinking up at Izar seriously. "You can't break promises."

"Of course I can break promises," Izar retorted harshly before giving a pained hiss and holding his forearm. "But I'll be back," he whispered. As he turned toward Kreacher, he grunted in pain and utter _exasperation _when he noticed the stubborn stance in the creature's posture. "This is an order, Kreacher. It does not matter what blood he is."

Kreacher's ears lowered. "Yes, Master Izar."

Izar slammed the door shut to his bedroom in response. Pushing away his guilt and uncertainty at bringing a child home, Izar raced toward the stairs, his mind now revolving around a much-needed battle. As soon as his foot hit the top step, he disapparated with a sharp _crack. _

_

* * *

_

{**Notes**} For those of you who are fretting already, no, the child is _**not**_ going to be a main character. I'm not a big fan of tossing a child into the mix, but he serves my purpose for tidying up some unsolved problems. What purposes are those? You'll just have wait and see.

And just as a side note, Voldemort can't stand children. (Izar isn't a big child lover either; he's rather awkward with them) Muggle/Mudblood children especially. So Izar's little jaunt will not be looked highly upon, I can assure you ;)


	46. Part II Chapter 14

_Enjoy. Thanks for reviewing and reading. _

**Chapter Fourteen**

As karma would have it, Izar Apparated right next to Voldemort on the streets of Godric's Hollow. He knew this was Fate's cruel way of punishing him for taking home a Muggle boy. He was beginning to believe _Voldemort _was Fate. The man was all-knowing and cruel like that.

His noisy arrival was noted quickly by the surrounding Death Eaters. They crouched down low, pointing their wands in his direction. Izar held up his own wand lazily, a sloppy grin unseen from behind his mask. "I forgot my wand back at the base," he offered as a meager excuse. He waved his wand around carelessly in small circles and waves. "No need to believe I'm Rufus Scrimgeour dressed up in Death Eater garb. Black isn't his color."

Disgusted sighs and grumbles answered him as the Death Eaters relaxed their stance and lowered their wands. Voldemort offered a stare full of contempt before turning his shoulder on Izar and walking away. Izar knew the man didn't believe his excuse, in fact, Izar hoped _no one _believed he left his wand back at the base. If they had, Izar would be concerned Voldemort had recruited some incredibly thick men and women.

He knew he would eventually have to come up with a reasonable excuse for his short absence during the raid. That is, if Voldemort didn't know the reason already. Judging from the furious look the man had given him, Izar believed Voldemort might have heard rumors of his escape with a Muggle.

Sighing, Izar looked down, suddenly catching sight of his feet. He had Apparated right on top of a dead corpse, its intestinal organs covering his shoes.

Yes. Karma was a bitch.

With a revolted grunt, Izar lifted his feet from the dead body's remains and wiped them on a patch of clean grass. Around Godric's Hollow, the chaos hadn't showed signs of dying down from the few minutes Izar had disappeared. The screams seemed to have quieted a fraction, but the flames were just as hot and soaring as earlier, if not more. The fire highlighted the sky and the streets in an orange glow, allowing the Death Eaters to spot any wandering or hiding victims between the houses or in bushes.

And still no Ministry. Granted, it had only been ten or twenty minutes since the Death Eaters invaded Godric's Hollow, surely not enough time to gather the Aurors together. However, he knew it would be soon. This was the Death Eaters' first full raid, but it was not Rufus Scrimgeour's first battle against Dark wizards.

Standing on the front yard, he gazed at nothing in particular. His unnecessary breathing hitched shallowly as he listened to the endless screams of tortured victims. Grimacing, Izar rolled his head from side to side, trying to loosen his rising anxiety. His fingers on both hands began to twitch and tremble with unease. This pent-up energy and adrenaline was climbing to dangerous heights. Soon, he wouldn't care about his reluctance to torture defenseless victims and find his own family of Muggles.

As soon as his thoughts danced the border of no return, _cracks _of Apparation sounded just outside the gates of Godric's Hollow.

Death Eaters yelled in anticipation as they sprinted from their victim's homes and toward the gates. Izar made a step toward the entrance, detesting that he was one of the farthest from the gates, but he paused as his magic-sensitivity sparked back to life. Adrenaline was the trigger to his hidden gift, and at the moment, his adrenaline levels were at their highest.

Even as the Death Eaters ran past him, Izar felt his legs lock in place. Tipping back his neck, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes blissfully when he felt the _waves _of magic coming from the backside of Godric's Hollow, almost feet from where he currently stood.

Rufus was good.

_Very good. _

The ex-Auror had thrown the sound of their Apparation across the neighborhood to divert his enemies from their real location. In the mean time, they would take the Death Eaters by surprise from the back.

Unfortunate for them, Izar wasn't fooled.

With an exaggerated swagger, Izar walked into the center of the road, facing the cloaked and shadowed figures. Eagerly, he watched as their blurry features slowly became crisper, clearer. A delirious snicker escaped Izar's lips as he stood tall and firm. One lonely Death Eater against the Department of Aurors.

Now _this _is what he lived for. This rush was exhilarating. This was his torture. This was where he was meant to stand. Every little problem and detail in his personal life was whisked away to the back of his mind like ashes in the fierce winds. He wouldn't have this any other way.

The Aurors, dressed professionally in their blue and grey robes, raised their wands simultaneously and fire roared forth, rivaling the sight of a super nova. Izar's eyes widened before he laughed in glee, crouching down and preparing himself as the fire raced toward him. They weren't going for the capture. They were going for the kill—a swift kill to as many Death Eaters they could hit with the fire. And _that _only made this even more stimulating.

A hoarse and shrill _"No!"_ sounded behind him as the fire washed over and around Izar. But not before Izar raised a Water Shield, a spell that formed around him like a form-fitting bubble. He crouched down, his skin screaming with the proximity of the flames. His vision burned and he blinked, trying to bring moisture to his scorching eyeballs. A sea of flame was the only thing around him. For a second, he became dizzy, believing he was in a whole different environment.

Forcibly, he grounded himself, already planning his next step in the attack. Judging from the shout of denial behind him, Izar knew the Death Eaters were already alerted that the Aurors were behind them and not where the sounds of Apparation originally came from. But they had to be just as distracted with the flames as Izar was. He knew some of them probably hadn't cast a spell or dodged in time.

Finally, as the flames died down, Izar leaped from his crouched position and danced on the balls of his feet. _"Altisonus,"_ he murmured. His wand weaved through the air and he used the grace of his body to loop the spell into a wider range.

The spell vibrated through the air, looking similar to trembling mirages. The _Altisonus _was a spell that would allow the caster to target a wide-range of victims. Inside each vibration carried sounds so loud and damaging that it would blow the eardrums from the victims. And in some cases, the closer the victim stood, and the stronger the caster's magic, the chance that a few heads could explode from the sharp force of it.

It was the ideal spell; especially because it didn't harm the caster or others behind the caster. Only a slight, piercing echo was heard from those behind the spell's shadow.

The Aurors scrambled to protect themselves against the incoming vibrations. Some of them were lucky, while others cried out, going to their knees and clutching their palms to their bleeding ears. Izar grew ecstatic when the closest two Aurors faltered in their attack, their heads abruptly exploding before their bodies gave way to the ground. The mass of thick gore on the ground seemed oddly remarkable in Izar's eyes.

He was forced to end the spell and defend himself as a Slicing Hex came inches from his neck. His shield diverted the majority of the force, but a sliver cut through his defenses and nicked him across the throat. Izar grunted, bending his knees and hurriedly transforming the pebbles at his feet into mirrors for the Reflection Charm. As the Aurors surrounded him tightly, the mirrors went up just in time. Most of the hexes hit Izar's Reflection Charm, rebounding back into the crowd and inflicting mayhem.

Countless of Aurors dropped to the ground near Izar, caught off guard by the mirrored charm and getting the other end of their own destructive curse.

Hastily, Izar wiped away the blood leaking from his already healed neck before slashing his wand heatedly across his chest. The mirrors bulged before shattering outwardly. Throwing his will behind the hit, Izar pushed the shards of glass outward with a powerful thrust and watched as they embedded in a few victims. His eyes narrowed behind his mask as he watched one man in particular fall to the ground with a glass splinter sticking proudly between his eyes.

Suddenly, a high-pitched laugh sounded across Godric's Hollow. Izar grinned, feeling his amusement rise the closer the source of the laugh came.

Bellatrix Apparated right behind him, pressing her shoulders against his back. "Come now, dear nephew," she breathed from behind her gold-plated mask. "Let's see who can collect the largest body count tonight."

Izar grinned spitefully, slashing his wand and cutting off an Auror's head as the man's defenses failed. "You have a long way to go before you catch up," he taunted back to her. While Bellatrix had an earlier start with killing Muggles, Izar had the advantage of killing large groups of Aurors before the Death Eaters had arrived.

And he could tell the Death Eaters were finally here. Izar wasn't being targeted by the entire group of Aurors anymore. Instead, he could focus on one opponent at a time before another one took its place.

Bellatrix and Izar danced together in the heat of the battle, both using the other as means of warning and advantage. When Bellatrix ducked, Izar ducked, and vice versa. They were a good pair. Their fighting styles mimicked one another reasonably well. They were both quick on their feet and they were both vicious. Playing with their victim wasn't as taste-savoring as going on to the next victim. As soon as their opponent fell, they would move to the next one before their earlier adversary had even hit the ground.

They were creating a noticeable perimeter. It was clear that they were the strongest threat in the group of Death Eaters, save for Voldemort. Together, they were crafting a decent amount of Auror corpses, enraging the Ministry and encouraging the Death Eaters.

Bellatrix ducked, bringing Izar down with her. Her Auror opponent's spell zoomed right above Izar's head and struck another Auror across from him. The man went flying with a deep gash across his chest.

She cackled, her madness seeping into Izar's pores and he found himself chuckling alongside her. His vision grew red and he stood up, hungry to take more. In the distance, further from where he stood, Izar could see wizards in ordinary robes fighting alongside the Aurors. Contemplating quickly, he assumed they were Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Izar hadn't seen Albus Dumbledore for a few months, but the old man was here, dueling ferociously against Voldemort.

Both of them favored nonverbal incantations that focused primarily on force rather than creativity. They were equally matched, both blinded by their own weaknesses to excel over the other. Dumbledore underestimated Voldemort's sanity and Voldemort was too arrogant—sightless— to Dumbledore's real and true power. That there _might _be someone just as powerful as him.

For a crazy moment, Izar itched to step into their duel to shake thing up for the two wizards and to sate his own hunger that most of these Aurors couldn't satisfy. He figured Voldemort wouldn't be too happy about that. The man was already furious over Izar's slight absence earlier.

Reaching behind him, Izar's left hand sought Bellatrix's arm before curling around it and twirling her. He needed to change positions for a fresh scene and a hope that these opponents were better than his half. Bellatrix went compliantly with his alteration, stepping into the change with ease.

Izar swatted a fiery red curse away from his face before cutting off his opponent's ankles and killing him as soon as the man hit the ground. Without a pause, he set his fallen opponent on fire, successfully spreading it on the Auror who stepped over the body. With the blond Aurors' distraction of extinguishing her burning robes, Izar aimed for the woman's pretty blue eyes, nonverbally discharging them from their sockets.

She screamed in horror and agonizing pain, but surprisingly, she kept her stance defensive and tried her best to guard herself against Izar. Her Auror partner was already dead at her feet, his scent fanning the air with burning skin.

The Black heir took no pity on her as he flicked his wand near her feet where her shield was the weakest. Grabbing her by the ankles, he hoisted her upside down in the air and twirled her around and around. Without her sight, she grew frightened and ill. Vomit leaked from her puckered lips, dropping in her nose and momentarily choking her.

Before he could _assist _her with her troubles, a curse came flying at him. Izar would have never noticed it if it hadn't been for his magic-sensitivity. It was directed at his turned profile, not even in a place where Bellatrix could see it.

It had been a well-planned attack, if not a bit underhanded for a _Light _Auror.

Izar spun both himself and Bellatrix around, using his quick reflexes to successfully avoid the green hex he knew to be the Killing curse. Growling, Izar glanced up at the Auror who had distracted him from his prey, barely comprehending the man's identity through his blood-lust.

Sirius Black.

And just beyond his uncle's shoulders, Izar could see James and Lily Potter. An Auror uniform donned Mr. Potter while his wife had on her customary dark robes, a sign that she was still in the Order of the Phoenix. Her expression was impassive as she dueled a Death Eater, her crimson hair resembling a unified banner of flames.

Izar hissed softly, holding his wand between his thumb and forefinger before flicking a harmless hex toward his uncle. Of course Sirius blocked it and flew an even stronger and darker spell in his direction. Izar sidestepped it with his reflexes, bringing Bellatrix with him at his back once again. Sirius' eyes narrowed in suspicion as Izar seemed to hesitate with throwing anything Darker his way.

"Izar?" the man whispered, his expression sobering into one of emotional pain.

Izar tipped his head back, laughing in frustration. Any other time, he would try to duel Sirius and try to keep up false pretenses. But right now, he was in a blood-lust haze. He needed a real and challenging fight. Dueling with Sirius would either bring his adrenaline back down because he knew he wouldn't be able to harm Sirius, or it was possible that he _would _hurt the man.

"It's time for me to hunt bigger prey, Bellatrix…" Izar whispered to the woman behind him.

"And leave me by my lonesome?" she simpered with an exaggerated pout.

He looked over his shoulder at the dozen or more dead Aurors by Bellatrix's hand. "I think you can handle yourself perfectly fine."

Her dark eyes met his briefly behind her gold mask. With a loving hand, she stroked his mask. "Go have some _fun_." She gave a loud cackle, pushing at his chest violently. Izar stumbled, but before he fell on his arse, he Disapparated with a loud _crack_.

Izar grunted as he landed in a lethal crouch on top of a roof. He used his strength in his legs to balance on the sloping and steep roof. Below, he watched the battle through eager and critical eyes. He bypassed many worthy Aurors, such as Kingsley, Moody, and Potter… all for _him. _

"Yes," Izar hissed, his fingers caressing the rough shingles of the roof as he spotted his intended target.

Raising his wand, he sent a simple Stunner down toward the tall and muscular man. The man, almost as if he was bred with sensors, quickly ducked despite his back being turned toward Izar. With a snarl, the man turned up and locked eyes with Izar.

Izar had successfully angered the lion.

The question was, had he snared the predator's full attention?

With a swirl of blue robes, his target Disapparated.

Without turning, Izar smiled darkly as he heard the _crack _sound directly behind him.

**{Death of Today}**

There was something eerily familiar about the long and thin figure across from him, Rufus thought as he balanced awkwardly on the slanted roof. It wasn't just the stature of the cloaked figure, but the way the wizard _moved. _Grace entwined through his limbs, making his movements fluid and flowing. Scrimgeour had his suspicions of course, and they were likely correct, but now wasn't the time to dwell on the Death Eater's identify.

Rufus sneered, throwing a Blasting Curse in hopes of knocking the figure off the roof. Instead of throwing up a shield like Rufus assumed the figure would, the Death Eater did a quick cartwheel, balancing with ease on the arch of the roof.

"Flashy," Rufus growled, lifting his lip and exposing his teeth in a feral sneer. He despised flashy duelers. Many of his Aurors took a liking to flamboyant styles of combat, but none of them succeeded without years of practice. On the other hand, the Death Eater across from him appeared as if he were born with elegance—making the flashy style appear natural and not forced.

The Death Eater across form him crouched down low, staring at him. The silver mask glistened off the flames from the neighboring houses, veiling his features. Rufus rumbled disapprovingly in his chest, becoming suspicious as to why the very atmosphere around this Death Eater was familiar. It was too dark to see the color of the eyes and the figure was of average height for most males, if not on the tall side.

And he knew many men that fit that category.

"And _you _are blunt and rather boring."

The whispered voice didn't give anything away besides the fact that Rufus was now certain it _was_ male.

Setting his shoulders, Rufus raised his wand once again, watching as the figure remained crouched and watchful. A determined smile marred Rufus' face as he realized the Death Eater brought him up here just to play with him.

"_Elidere!" _Rufus snarled, the orange cruse twisting with a bright yellow as it made its way to the Death Eater with deadly accuracy. The Death Eater believed he was boring? This curse would make his rival see _sparks. _

The Death Eater maneuvered with one foot, twirling away from the curse with simplicity. But Rufus' opponent hadn't been prepared for the orange and yellow curse to curve back around in his direction. Rufus watched, smug, as the Death Eater raised a clumsy shield that exposed his surprise. And just as expected, once the _Elidere _hit the shield, it set of an explosion of bright flames and loud blasts.

Rufus shielded his eyes from the bright flash and crouched down to brace himself against the detonation. His slick hair was manipulated cruelly by the after-affects of the explosion's force and his hands in front of his face grew warm with the flames.

Finally, when the hot air died down, Rufus removed his arm, staring at the empty and scorching position the Death Eater had just occupied. It was impossible the Death Eater had a chance to defend himself against the second attack of the explosion. The man had been taken off-guard by the spell, it would be astonishing if the Death Eater made it out alive.

"_Incubitum!" _

Rufus started as the Death Eater came jumping forward in mid-incantation. The purple hex hit Rufus, startling him with the unexpected and sudden attack. His bad leg began to grow heavier and his pulse brought a painful throb in his thigh. He clenched his teeth, quickly raising a shield as another hex came his way.

It rebounded and Rufus pushed past the pain in his leg and shifted closer to the Death Eater.

But before any of them could invoke the other, another acidic green skull and serpent was blast into the smoky and hazy sky. _Cracks_ of Disapparation sounded throughout the neighborhood, signaling that the Death Eaters were retreating.

No.

The Death Eater was _not _going anywhere. Rufus was determined to either kill the man or capture him. Either one would do. It was not an option to allow this Dark wizard to walk as a free man in society, unaware. Too many of his men died today, fighting these disgraceful wizards.

Rufus lunged forward, effectively exploding the brick chimney on the roof he stood upon. The bricks spun rapidly around the Death Eater in a small twister, knocking him first on the shoulder and then a couple of times across his chest and head. His opponent went down hard, hitting the roof awkwardly and sliding down the other side of the house. Rufus breathed heavily, slowly walking toward the edge of the roof and looking down.

He expected to see a bloody and broken body below. Instead, innocent bushes and manicured flowers met his inspection.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood. He quickly turned, raising his wand, but the Death Eater behind him was quicker. _Much _quicker. Rufus went flying off the roof, sailing across the space between houses before crashing on top of the next roof. He rolled down the slope, dazed and out of breath from the impact. He must have broken a few ribs, perhaps an arm and leg. Nonetheless, he dug his wand into the shingles of the roof, stopping his descent before he hit the ground.

Anger swelled up through his chest. He snapped his head around, hungry to take revenge, but the Death Eater was already gone.

Something told Rufus this wouldn't be the last time he would encounter his quick opponent.

**{Death of Today}**

It hadn't been his best duel. With Scrimgeour, that was. Izar believed he had already been worn out by his previous duels with the Aurors. Because of that, his duel with Scrimgeour hadn't been as thrilling as he imagined it would be. The same went for Scrimgeour himself. Izar had been a bit disappointed the ex-Auror hadn't been more of a challenge. But by the time Rufus had arrived on the roof, Izar remembered almost _tasting _Scrimgeour's weariness.

Next time would be better. And longer.

Currently, he was climbing up the stairs to his bedroom at Grimmauld. Voldemort would want him at his base tonight, so Izar had to act quickly. Which reminded him. He needed to come up with a reasonable excuse to give the Dark Lord for his unexpected absence during the raid tonight.

Lord Voldemort hadn't required his Death Eaters to gather at his base after the raid. Most of them went home after they retreated, while others chose to mingle at the base and trade stories of their success or bring aid to their fallen comrade's family.

And Izar chose to… come home to a Muggle. How _quaint. _

"Master Izar," Kreacher croaked with a stiff bow as soon as he spotted Izar emerging from the staircase. "The Mudblood remained in your room, just like you ordered."

"Good," Izar placed his gloved hand on Kreacher's head in praise. "Regulus will be home shortly. You can go see to his needs." He dismissed the House-elf without a second glance, entering his room with a heavy grimace.

Across the room, the dark blond boy was curled in on himself, trembling. The quivering was likely from the _Crucio _he underwent during the Death Eater raid. Izar probably should have given the boy a Muscle Relaxer, but he pushed the sentimental thought away hastily.

The boy looked up when Izar clattered his silver mask on the desk. "What is your name?" Izar ventured shortly. He assessed the boy through narrowed eyes, wondering why there was a certain attachment he harbored with this Muggle. It was pathetic and prohibited.

"Aiden."

Izar grunted, unimpressed with the boy's proud courage. "Come with me, Aiden. I'm going to bring you to the orphanage. Unless, you have family…"

"I have family," Aiden breathed passionately, sitting up despite the tremors washing through his body. In the lightened room, Izar noticed the boy's dark eyes were a muddy brown. "You're my family. You can't bring me to the orphanage because I already have you."

Leaning against the far wall, a decent and safe distance from the boy, Izar crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't even know me," he whispered darkly. The way the boy was watching him made Izar feel extremely uncomfortable. It was an adoring stare, as if he were the boy's one and only savior—his idol.

"I do," Aiden argued again. "I see you in my dreams."

Again with the dreams. The boy had to be a Seer, even if it was a diluted ability. "How often do you have these dreams?" he asked in all curiosity. He knew what he _really _should be doing was bringing the child to the orphanage and not growing more attached… _if_ he could call it 'attachment'.

"Only sometimes," the boy frowned, furrowing his brows in frustration. "I don't remember them very much. But I remember dreaming about you. And Regulus. You and him are just like me. You make stuff happen. Magic stuff."

Izar noticed the boy had trouble pronouncing Regulus' name fluently. "Magic _stuff_?" Izar repeated, more to himself then the boy. Eloquent. But then again, the boy was only around six, possibly seven.

He leaned further into the wall, examining the boy who peered back at him with inquiring eyes. If what the boy said was true, then he really was a Mudblood. Or, quite possibly, his parents were a wizard and witch as well. It made Izar feel slightly better to know that the boy was magical adequate and not just a lowly Muggle. Still, a Mudblood wasn't a very far step above a Muggle.

"Your parents. Could they cast magic?"

Why, exactly, was he asking? He should turn his back, bring the boy out of Grimmauld before Regulus or Voldemort found out. And yet, he found himself standing stiffly, waiting for the boy to answer.

"No," Aiden replied, his expression darkening with past horrors.

"Did they hurt you because you were different?" Izar persisted.

Aiden looked down, frowning at the black and grey comforter on Izar's bed. "My father hit me sometimes, not often," he whispered. "But I could see that they didn't like me. Or love me. They never talked to me or touched me like any of the other parents did to their children. They always yelled. I'm always alone."

Perhaps it was the childish and innocent tone that chilled Izar. Or it could have been the story that ran parallels with Izar's childhood. He realized, suddenly, that he hadn't been drawn to the boy because he was a Seer or because he was a pathetic-looking child, but because he could see ghosts of his own past in the boy's eyes. Wizards did _not _belong in the Muggle world. Muggles feared power they couldn't control for themselves. And they took out their fear on the one who wielded it.

Izar sighed deeply, placing his fingertips to his forehead. Would he come across another abused Mudblood child and bring them home as well? He couldn't go around, bringing in orphans and taking pity on them just because they experienced the same thing he had.

But then again, Aiden was an exception. The boy had seen Izar in his dreams beforehand and he had seen Izar take him away from his abusive home. The child seemed to have grown an attachment to Izar before he had even met him. It was a dangerous thing to do, especially because Izar could easily kill him or bring him to the orphanage. But it was something a _child _would do—trust and love a stranger… trust a Dark wizard who had just slaughtered countless of men and women tonight.

And he trusted Izar only because he had taken him away from his home.

"What am I going to do with you?" Izar murmured, looking up with a raised eyebrow. Aiden blinked at him, stubbornly trying to hide the tremors shaking his body. "Yet, I shouldn't be asking you. You probably already know the answer, I'm sure."

_He _couldn't keep the child. He didn't _want _to keep the child. Children wore on his patience and he didn't feel comfortable with giving them warmth or attention. Izar devoted himself to his inventions and bickering with the Dark Lord. A child would get in the way of his solitude. Especially a child that had been abused. Izar didn't have the required devotion and patience to give an mistreated child.

But there was one person who seemed lonely, one person who always wanted a family and complained about Izar growing up too fast.

Regulus.

Suddenly, Izar remembered his dream from the other night. He recalled having a descendant, a descendant that claimed relation to Regulus and Izar. But how would that be possible if Izar couldn't have children and Regulus was gay? The answer was simple and quite clear. Adoption.

Regulus expected Izar to pass on the Black name. However, Izar knew if he _did _have fertile sperm, Voldemort wouldn't allow him to conceive a child with another woman or even adopt a child. The Dark Lord was too possessive of Izar's attention. And who knew? Voldemort probably thought Izar would grow soft if he were to have his own child.

And Izar didn't want to become softer than he already was.

So that left one other option. Regulus could adopt the child and Aiden could pass on the Black name. Blood adoption was rare but extremely effective. Those who practiced it were usually pure-bloods. But because pure-bloods were rather stiff about conceiving their own child, blood adoption wasn't used very often. It would allow the child's features, along with other things, to morph into a more cohesive pattern that mimicked their adoptive family.

Deciding Aiden's fate wasn't as haphazard as it seemed. Izar had speculated about what he was going to do about continuing the Black line. And now that he had a child in front of him, why not ship it off to Regulus?

It would certainly get the boy away from _him_. The boy and those bloody adoring and trustworthy eyes. And a Seer would make a decent addition to both the Dark side and the Black family. Regulus would have someone to coddle and Izar didn't have to carry the headache that accompanied the problem of continuing the Black name.

The only problem with his ingenious plan? Convincing Regulus a Mudblood could pass off as a decent pure-blood and convincing Voldemort that he hadn't _really _left the raid for a Mudblood child. The former issue was quite simple, really. Izar would still be the Black heir. Aiden would just need to produce the sperm to carry on on the line. Plus the boy didn't have the blood or genes that would pass on Cygnus' Curse.

A bit of pushing and Regulus would come around.

Which left Voldemort….

Izar made a face toward the child across the room. The boy was smiling impishly back at him, as if he _knew _Izar's plans for him. But as soon as it came, the smile disappeared and Aiden hunched in on himself in fear. At first, Izar thought it was the _Crucio _acting up again, but dismissed that assumption when he saw the true horror.

"The man with red eyes," Aiden whispered.

Izar was about to tell the boy that the man with red eyes scared _everyone _and that he needed to toughen up. That was, until he felt the shift in atmosphere. Stiffening, Izar cautiously reached for the door, intent to leave the room before Voldemort was lured upstairs.

As he opened the door, he was met with narrowed red eyes. Abruptly, Izar slammed the door shut on the Dark Lord's face, not prepared to face him just yet but knowing it was inevitable. Turning, he motioned for Aiden to hide under the bed. But with the amount of noise the boy made as he shuffled to the ground, Izar was sure the Dark Lord could hear it outside the door.

"Don't even bother," Voldemort hissed as he walked inside the room, his attention lingering on the bed before zeroing on an innocent-looking Izar. Behind the Dark Lord's shoulder, Regulus lingered uncertainly, his charcoal eyes still bright from the battle tonight.

"I—"

Izar was cut off as Voldemort reached forward, curling his hand around Izar's thin throat and pinning him against the wall. The Black heir frowned, realizing that the Dark Lord was truly angry. The man stunk of charred flesh and cold blood, not repulsive to Izar's creature nose, but certainly not appetizing.

Voldemort leaned forward, his black hair escaping the tight confinements of his binder. "I've heard several accounts regarding your sudden absence from the raid," the man began with whispered cruelty. "However, I would very much like to hear your side of the story."

How generous. The Dark Lord was giving Izar the benefit of the doubt. Where was this mercy for the situations that Izar _needed _the benefit of the doubt?

Charmed green and charcoal eyes narrowed at Voldemort. The hand around his throat was incredibly painful. Izar knew, if he had been human, the force holding him would have snapped his neck and instantly killed him. "Securing the Black family jewels," he hissed in defiance.

Suddenly, he was pushed down and away from Voldemort. Izar stumbled without the force of Voldemort and caught his back against the wall with a sharp _thud_.He didn't get a chance to recover his dignity, for the Dark Lord loomed before him like a dark shadow, his crimson eyes bright and calculating.

"He's a Seer," Izar argued heatedly. "He could be an asset to us!" He lifted his chin in the face of Voldemort's anger, hating the dominant stance the Dark Lord was exuding. In front of his _father, _no less. Thankfully, Regulus was staying out of the room, likely ordered by Voldemort to stay out. But that didn't lessen his pride being stamped on.

Thinking on it now, it _was_ rather surprising Voldemort was allowing the audience of not only the Mudblood boy under the bed, but Regulus as well. Izar _could _fight back and gain equal footing, but if he fought back, he would be using his creature strength as means to accomplish. He couldn't risk Regulus finding out about his relationship with the Dark Lord or his status of a creature. And that was what Voldemort had planned. He planned on Regulus' presence and thus, Izar's submission.

The man always seemed to be a step ahead of Izar. And it was both infuriating and alluring.

He hated this… this relationship between the both of them. He hated it because it wasn't healthy and it wasn't reasonable, yet he craved and thrived in it. Even now, when they were both glaring into each other's face in the heat of anger, the physical tension was still tangible and crisp. In fact, the anger only seemed to fuel the delicious tension. It wasn't normal, but it was what made them compatible. They both aimed to control the other, to manipulate and dominate.

Obviously, both of them were a bit off their rocker.

"Even if he was Merlin resurrected, it doesn't change the fact that he is a Mudblood, the very same parasite we slaughter," Voldemort whispered darkly. A thin smile curled the edges of his mouth, appearing as if he knew the train of Izar's thoughts. "You will _never _leave in the middle of the raid again. For a _Muggle, _no less. Is that clear?"

Izar jutted out his jaw, eyes flashing. "Yes, I understand."

Was this it? Anger was all but dancing beneath the Dark Lord's skin and reaching out toward Izar, and yet, the man did a remarkable job of concealing it. Which made Izar believe there was more to come.

A pale hand, stained crimson with fallen victims, reached out and caressed Izar's jaw line. "Then you can redeem yourself and kill the boy."

Beneath the bed, the child sucked in a breath. Even Izar could hear the trembling coming from the small body. Izar desperately wanted to agree with the Dark Lord, to raise his wand and erase his mistake he made tonight. It was tempting, especially when he knew keeping the boy alive would create a rift between him and Voldemort.

"I plan to adopt him into the family," Izar murmured stiffly. The weight of Voldemort's hand on his face became almost unbearable.

"I don't think so." Voldemort lifted his lip, his twisted smile still somehow staying in place. "Not only will adopting a Mudblood reflect poorly on your family, but it will reflect poorly on your status as a Death Eater. You will never move up in ranking at the rate you're going."

Izar raised his eyebrows, knocking away Voldemort's hand on his cheek. Fury laced through his chest. The man always seemed to run his life; his decisions; his future. Now Izar would keep the boy just to spite the Dark Lord. "You forbid me to marry Daphne," he started, his voice too low for Regulus or the child to hear. "You forced my hand at graduating Hogwarts early. You made me your political heir without my consent. And you turned me into an immortal creature without first giving me a warning or tutorial of what it entitled. You cannot and will not force my hand with this," Izar hissed.

Voldemort took a step back, his features impassive. "You will not be allowed back at my base until the boy is properly taken care of." Crimson eyes bore holes into Izar's. The man, in all his arrogance, turned his heel and made his way toward the door.

Izar pushed off from the wall, seething. "That," Izar spat at Voldemort's retreating back. "Is not such a horrible loss." He didn't know why he said it. Perhaps it was out of anger, but the thought of not being forced to live and sleep with Voldemort both frightened and intrigued him. He had gotten too reliable with Voldemort's presence. Maybe this absence would be a good thing until Voldemort realized he was in the _wrong. _

The Dark Lord suddenly turned, his expression pitiless. "If you insist of acting like a child, then I shall treat you as such and provide punishments. You will not be welcome at my base and you will not accompany the Death Eaters on any more raids until the boy is disposed."

"You can't _do _that," Izar argued at the man's back once again.

Voldemort dismissed him with a cold shoulder and walked from the room. Regulus stepped from the shadows, staring at Izar with confusion and uncertainty.

Izar exhaled through his clenched teeth, knowing Voldemort _needed _him. Things would get straightened out eventually. Voldemort just needed to heal his wounded pride.

**{Death of Today}**

The young boy was out cold in an extra bedroom, sated with Muscle Relaxer and a sleeping aid. Regulus had reluctantly helped Aiden from under the bed and saw to his physical and mental health. Meanwhile, Izar had closed himself away in his bedroom, not wanting anything to do with the boy or his father at the time.

Now that the child was asleep and put away, Izar slithered from his room, walking down the rickety stairs. A light was on in the parlor, luring Izar forward. He could smell Regulus inside the room, nursing an alcoholic beverage of some sort. Regulus wasn't a regular drinker, which meant the man felt as if he needed a strong drink to get through the night.

"You should be sleeping," Izar spoke dryly, stopping in the doorframe.

Regulus started, quickly folding a letter and stuffing it in his inner-cloak pocket. Izar's sharp eyes were quick enough to track the letter, noticing the lengthy script as his mother's handwriting. The parchment was worn, almost as if Regulus folded and unfolded it numerous times during the day. Yet, it still appeared new. Izar wondered if this was the letter Lily owled Regulus the day she informed him she was dropping the case.

But Regulus just said she wrote to tell him about the dropped custody battle, nothing more. Obviously, that wasn't the case as Izar spied the lengthy letter. And Izar was reminded again that he still hadn't read her letter to him. It was currently at Voldemort's base in one of Izar's cloaks.

"Izar," Regulus greeted coolly. He reached for his drink, taking a large gulp. "How could I sleep when you have thrust a large issue into our home?"

Pursing his lips, Izar pushed off from the doorframe and ventured into the parlor. From the moment he stepped into the room, his attention had been directed toward his father. Now that he sat down, he noticed the Black tapestry across from him. His eyes widened a fraction when he noticed the healing tapestry. It wouldn't be impossible for Regulus to revive the Black tapestry, but it would require a lot of magic and patience, something Izar hoped Regulus would have little of now that Aiden was here.

"You didn't even consult me," his father started again. "On something as large as this… it's…"

"I'm infertile," Izar declared boldly. "I cannot have children." He didn't know that for certain, but he assumed he was unable to produce children now that he was undead. "I know I could have adopted a child, but quite frankly, I don't even _like _children. You do. I thought you would be the better candidate to take care of Aiden."

Regulus gave a dry laugh, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter that you are infertile, Izar. Merlin, I don't even care if I have to adopt another child to carry on the Black name. But Aiden is a _Mudblood. _A child born with Muggle parents. I cannot take him in as a Black."

"I'm a half-blood," Izar pointed out. "One of the first and only Black heirs to have such dirty blood. Do you agree that my unclean blood made me a lesser wizard? That I am not capable to keep up with the other Blacks in history?" Izar persisted, knowing this was an argument he could win. His father, despite his blood prejudice, was easy prey when it came to children, especially _abused _children.

Persuading people was becoming easier for Izar. Compared to Voldemort, anyone else was easy and open to Izar's advances. He supposed that was _one _positive to being so close with the Dark Lord.

Regulus ran a hand through his hair, pulling at it in frustration. "You know I don't believe that—"

"I would continue on being the Black heir until Aiden's children are old enough to hold the title. Which, then, I would become the Head of the Black family unless you are still alive." Izar paused, knowing he couldn't make promises about the future when it was too unclear. "Regulus, you can use blood adoption. He's more than capable of carrying the line."

His father leaned against his chair, gazing at Izar through half-lidded eyes. "Do you truly believe he's capable?"

Izar tried to keep his smugness from leaking through his voice. "I do," he murmured. "He's a Seer. And despite the fact he claims he doesn't remember many things, it doesn't mean we cannot come up with a way to record his dreams and visions." He paused, keeping his eyes locked on Regulus' as he laid out the bait. "He was abused at home, Regulus. His parents hated him because he showed abnormal abilities. I don't have the patience or the capability to heal the boy. Try your hand at raising him into a worthy pure-blood. If it doesn't work, you can always give him up."

He knew he had his father the moment those charcoal eyes softened in resignation. "Alright. I'll try my hand at raising him. If it doesn't work out though…"

"There is the orphanage," Izar agreed full-heartedly. "And no one needs to know he's a Muggleborn. We can manipulate a story that would involve him having at least one magical parent. Half-bloods aren't nearly as frowned upon in the pure-blood world as Mudbloods are."

Regulus leaned forward suddenly, searching Izar. "And what of the Dark Lord? I heard what he said tonight."

Izar's lips thinned. "I'll take care of him. He'll come around."

His father gave him a withering stare before turning back to his alcohol. Izar continued sitting in his chair, staring across the room at the destroyed Black tapestry. There were many problems he needed to ponder over, many solutions he needed to solve. But at the moment, he enjoyed the silence with his father and closed his eyes.

"You'll be around for Aiden at times, right? He seems to already have a liking for you."

Izar kept his eyes closed and murmured, "Of course."

He lied.

* * *

{**Notes**} I'm not sure what's in next chapter, as I have yet to write it. But I hope to get to the assassination in France. Voldemort, of course, will be oblivious to Izar's plans to go to France.


	47. Part II Chapter 15

_Enjoy. Thanks for the reviews/reading. And yes, I do read each one. Real-life has been kind of hectic as of the past two months. It's been difficult to respond and even update. _

**Chapter Fifteen **

On Tuesday morning, the day after the raid, there was another meeting called with the Unspeakables. Only this time, they were traveling upstairs to the upper levels of the Ministry. Izar didn't particularly like this course of action. Not only did it show the employees at the Ministry that Rufus had a strong hold over the Unspeakables, but it exposed the Unspeakables' privacy and secrecy to the public eye.

However, there _was _a positive of traveling to the upper levels of the Ministry.

The change in the Ministry's atmosphere was obvious and breathtakingly tangible. And Izar got to see if firsthand.

Yesterday had been Rufus' first day as Minister. In reaction to the election, the Ministry had been full of cheerful chaos and high-spirited employees. Today, there was a substantial air of solemnity and darkness. All the uncertainty throughout the Ministry was only fueled by the daily posts as they reported the attack at Godric's Hollow. Most the journalists had changed their tune and warned the public that there was now a Dark Lord in Britain—the first one since Gellert Grindelwald. Other reporters went the safe route and reassured the public that it was just the terrorists acting up again and Minister Scrimgeour had everything under control.

It was quite the contrary, actually. The death toll last night was almost double for the Aurors than it was for the Death Eaters.

Izar stood stiffly among the Unspeakables as they came to a stop before the Minister and Undersecretary. Behind both leading politics, the Board of Unspeakables stood, their scrolls in hand once again with their crimson-feathered quills and matching robes. They hadn't made any changes to the Department of Mysteries as of yet. But Izar was sure they had taken enough notes and had given them to Rufus to look over.

To the side of the lobby, the sheer number of Aurors stood in full uniform, their expressions smoothed into a stoic mask of professionalism. If Izar looked hard enough, he could see Sirius standing a few meters from him. The Black heir didn't try to meet eyes with his uncle. He was still unsure how to proceed with Sirius.

And the same went for Riddle. Not the Dark Lord himself, but _Riddle. _Would Izar go to the man after lunch as if everything were normal? Or was Izar not welcome in the Undersecretary's office either? On the contrary, Izar didn't want to be anywhere in the man's presence.

"Thank you for coming on such a short notice," Scrimgeour began as if he were oblivious that they didn't have a choice in coming.

_My, oh my_. The Minister sure looked worse for wear, Izar thought with a dark and smug smile. The Minister's normally greasy hair had increased in moisture as it was raked backward with an agitated hand. Izar could almost _see _the oil drip at the curly ends of his hair. And Rufus' normally light face had turned ashen, the scars etched in his skin now startlingly obvious. On top of it all, the Minister was favoring his left leg.

All the injuries Izar inflicted on the man must have been healed last night, before the public could see the defeated Minister. But the man's mental health was just as obvious as any physical injury. And yet, those yellow eyes were brighter than ever. A determined prey was just as delicious as a defeated one.

Next to Rufus, Riddle stood like a statue, impassive and unhappy to be present. Beside him, a large box sat, its contents a mystery to everyone present.

"There is no time for pleasantry," Rufus grunted as he leaned on his left leg. "We are at war and I must stretch out for aid. All of you are skilled and intelligent men and women. While we have a remarkable and strong army of Aurors, I feel as if we need _more_. That is why I believe the Unspeakables' time will be most beneficial if we focused on the war."

Izar pursed his lips, his eyes half-lidded. He knew where this was going. The question was, what did Izar think about it?

"For the duration of this war, I would like the Department of Mysteries to fight along side the Aurors and against the Death Eaters," Rufus spoke crisply, his voice heightening in volume as the Unspeakables began to voice out their disagreement.

Standing on the balls of his feet, Izar clasped his hands behind his back and smiled thinly. It was a decent enough move for Rufus, but also predictable and risky. By him recruiting the Unspeakables in the war, in battle, it showed that he was in desperate need… that he was slacking in the public's expectations. Surely the Minister saw that as much, but then again, Rufus was a blunt and candid leader. Someone who couldn't care a less about politics and favored getting things done correctly and efficiently. With brute force.

"And what of our inventions? You cannot mean to tell us that our jobs have been altered. Dueling isn't in our job description!" One woman complained in the front of the group, her voice loud and almost ear-splinting. Her words were all but incomprehensible to those in audience.

Rufus looked goaded, but he answered anyway. "With all due respect, Madam, as the Minister, I have the right to change your job description." That shut the woman up immediately. "In all honesty, I would have thought all of you would realize the honor of fighting for your country, for the victims targeted by the Death Eaters. You would be helping the men and women of Britain while stopping a mad man from taking control over the future. Over our children's future."

Silence spread across the group and Izar bowed his head, hiding his mirth. Fools. They were all fools. Their true feelings on the matter would always be reluctance and unwillingness. However, if they got credit or were blamed for not caring enough for the citizens of their world, they would go through with fighting just to look better.

Though, there were setbacks Rufus hadn't taken note of.

Slowly, he glanced up, noticing Scrimgeour had taken a scroll from Riddle. With an air of dignity, Izar raised his hand high. Unspeakables turned to look at him, but Izar kept facing forward as if he were ignorant.

"Yes… Mr. Black?" Rufus motioned toward him nonchalantly while glancing down at the list.

"Though Mrs. Webber asked a rather… _fervent_ question that most of us had trouble understanding, I'm afraid you glanced over her real concern, or, _our _real concern with this new development." Izar sniffed superiorly as he watched an irritated tick travel across Scrimgeour's jaw.

Yellow eyes glanced up at him, drilling him with a hard stare. "And what is that, Mr. Black?"

Izar wasn't affected by the man's lion-like annoyance. If anything, he was amused Scrimgeour could be easily riled. "What will happen to our job of inventing and experimenting, exactly? Do you expect us to train all day with the Aurors?" he paused, watching in pleasure as Rufus was about to answer before Izar continued, successfully cutting off the Minister. "And there is also the concern with the battles. While most of us our brilliant when it comes to scientific and magical theory, we aren't as skilled in dueling. I believe we would be more of a disadvantage than an asset."

A few Unspeakables snickered lowly, but Rufus didn't seem to mind. "All good questions, Mr. Black, but hardly an issue for you personally."

Ah, an attempt at flattery. Little did the man know he was complimenting the very same Death Eater who threw him into a roof last night.

"I don't intend to take away your love of experimenting or inventing." Rufus rolled the parchment back up, providing the Unspeakables with his full attention. "I just think Britain would benefit if all of you focused on inventing useful… gadgets for the war. All of you will absorb yourself with the war efforts and improving the Ministry." Scrimgeour paused, making certain he got his point across.

"As for the battles against the Death Eaters, I realize that some of you are not very skilled in dueling. I understand as much and will sign a release of your commitment if you are unable to duel. Those of you who wish to still go into battle, but find themselves unconfident in their skills, will be allowed to train with the Aurors during the evening."

A decent enough plan of action, Izar thought as he watched the Unspeakables whisper and murmur to one another. It would place a burden on their shoulders knowing they could get out of combat, but knowing they had the option to better themselves and fight for Britain. They would undoubtedly take the training session, only because it made them look better in the eyes of others.

"Those of you who _are _decent duelers will be called to the Ministry if there is ever an attack. You will receive a simple bracelet that will warm comfortably when you are needed. From there, you will accompany us to the sight of the attack," Rufus said in all seriousness. "I need everyone to take in account that innocents are being killed and slaughtered. Taking your time to arrive at the Ministry is _not _an option."

The Unspeakables suddenly grew quiet, finally picking up on the sincerity of the situation.

"I will be working and speaking to you more on the combat side of the war at a later date," the Minister shook the rolled parchment in his hands. "At the present, I have come up with a solution that will most likely create more powerful and quicker inventions for the war. Groups will be assigned and Chambers will merge into _one _unit until the war has ended. After which, the Unspeakables will be allowed to go back to their Chambers and resume their earlier work."

Izar felt his lip twitch upward in disgust. "Groups?" Izar murmured, horrified at the very thought of working together with _other _people. For a war he didn't even support, nonetheless.

"Yes. Groups, Mr. Black." Rufus was able to pick up Izar's quiet whisper. The Minister snapped open the roll of parchment, gazing at Izar over the top of the scroll amid the Unspeakables' chuckles. "In fact, why don't we start with you, hmm? You seem the most eager out of the bunch."

Izar remained unresponsive besides offering a raised eyebrow at the man's sadistic sense of humor. He ignored the Unspeakables as they looked at him in amusement and exasperation. Izar even disregarded the stare he was receiving from the Auror side of the room. He knew it was Sirius, perhaps James Potter. Instead, Izar's attention bypassed all of them and favored the other end of the expansive Chamber. He spotted some politicians standing nearby as they watched the proceedings with vast interest.

One politician, in particular, caught his notice. Lucius Malfoy stood amongst his subordinates, looking regal and every inch of powerful. The serpent at the end of his cane was caressed seductively against his chin and lips in what appeared to be contemplation. An inquiring eyebrow rose as Lucius noticed Izar's observation.

A true grin splayed Izar's mouth as he turned away. Lucius Malfoy would never be a boring specimen. If there was ever a man or woman who lightened Izar's spirits, it would always be Lucius.

"Izar Black," Rufus began reading from his scroll. "Augustus Rookwood…"

Glancing at Augustus, Izar studied the man's expressionless profile. It was a decent enough match. And he was more than willing to work with a fellow Death Eater. Especially a Death Eater who harbored intelligence and sanity.

"…will also be working with Conner Oran and Lily Potter."

Izar's hopes shattered, yet he remained unreadable as he looked up at the ceiling to steady and calm himself down. Who made the damned list? If it was Riddle, Izar swore to himself the Dark Lord would have _a lot _of kissing up to do now. But then again, Riddle wouldn't see anything wrong with his actions. No matter if the Dark Lord was in the wrong, the man never confessed as much—he would never acknowledge his mistakes.

Just like last night. The man always seemed to run Izar's life. There was no reason for him to have any say over who Regulus adopted. It was simply absurd and so like the Dark Lord. Quite frankly, as much as Izar enjoyed the power battles and the struggle for dominance, he was tired of always being the one to lose. This time around, Izar would not bend his neck.

"Step forward and collect your new uniform and wristlet," Rufus ordered when the four Unspeakables stayed rooted in place, seemingly dreading their assigned members just as much as Izar.

Izar kept his head held high as he moved forward. Not only would he have to put up with his mother, but he would have to put up with Conner Oran. The same man who looked at Izar with a mixture of jealousy, hate and lust. Nothing he couldn't handle, but Izar preferred not going to Riddle's office with a headache everyday.

The three others in his group briefly spoke to Rufus as the man asked them of their dueling skills. It wasn't a surprise that each one of them acknowledged they could fight without extra lessons.

"And you, Mr. Black?" Rufus murmured with a quill in hand. Scrimgeour took an advancing step forward, invading Izar's personal space. Yellow eyes swept the length of Izar, a hard edge to his mouth. "You're only sixteen," the man continued with a lowered voice. Those around them would have trouble hearing. "You have the choice of stepping out from the combat side of the war."

Izar only moved closer, thrilled at the proximity. The man smelt of black coffee and aftershave. Almost as if Rufus hadn't taken a shower that morning and decided to cover up his stench with a powerful substitute. It fit the man perfectly, especially because Izar could smell the odor of sweat underneath his aftershave.

"I'm a bit insulted you think my age has anything to do with my skill," Izar murmured lowly. The corner of his lip lifted at Rufus' grim face.

"No," the Minister replied shortly. "I just wanted to give you the option of stepping out."

And it was the perfect excuse for Izar to decline so he could fight with the Death Eaters. After all, he needed to quench his blood-lust and he needed to feel the adrenaline of killing his enemies. But then again, he was banned from any raids and any contact with the Death Eaters at the base.

Izar looked sideways at Riddle, meeting the man's charmed brown eyes before facing Rufus with a grin. "There may be times I am unable to fight, sir. But consider me part of the war. After all, what else do I have to do with my evenings?"

Scrimgeour allowed a small smile, but his eyes stayed hard as he looked closely at Izar. "Very well, Mr. Black. Gather your things from Mr. Riddle."

There was suspicion in the Minister's eyes. Izar's intrigue only heightened with the realization. Rufus must know something, perhaps even suspected Izar was his opponent last night. If that were the case, he believed Scrimgeour would work on throwing Izar out of the Unspeakable Department, perhaps even out of the Ministry. He would do so gently, as if it weren't for the reason Izar was a Death Eater, but because he was doing it for Izar's best interest.

After all, the man had no evidence.

Izar stopped before the tall form of Riddle, reaching for the simple silver bracelet and the new uniform. He didn't meet the Undersecretary's eyes. He couldn't. That was, until he was given the new uniform. He glanced up at Riddle, studying the man's hard face.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Black?" Rufus Scrimgeour murmured in exasperation as he spotted Izar's frown.

The Black heir unfolded the uniform, staring at the yellow robes with the large black Ministry emblem on the back. "Yellow and black really aren't my color. I feel like a bloody Hufflepuff," he muttered, glancing up at his _group _behind Riddle's shoulder. He caught Conner Oran's eyes. "Though, I'm sure Oran feels right at home."

The young man gave a growl of fury. "I was in Ravenclaw!"

So easily riled. Izar wondered when he got so good at this. "Could have fooled me." He glanced up at Riddle, flashing the man a coy smile before walking behind everyone and toward the end of the hall. He stayed within distance of his group, but well enough away to give himself _room. _

Izar was finding the changes in the Ministry difficult to swallow. Rufus was tightening his fist around Britain quickly. Though, Izar didn't expect any less. He just wondered if Voldemort was prepared to meet Scrimgeour head on. If the Dark Lord didn't come at Rufus with full power, Izar believed the Dark side would struggle severely. Of course, there was always the option of Izar making a few… mistakes in battle with the Unspeakables. A slip of an _Avada Kedavra _or accidentally putting an Auror in the way of a Severing hex…

But that would only happen if Voldemort bent his neck first.

"Quite the spectacle," a voice drawled in Izar's ear.

Izar had seen Lucius approaching. "If you'd like to call it that," he replied stiffly. He watched Riddle's shoulders straighten and he knew the man well enough to know he was listening in despite his turned back.

"Something as… deplorable as this may require a strong drink to settle the nerves. Don't you believe, Izar?" Lucius purred softly. "Would you mind accompanying me on a lunch conference?"

The Black heir finally turned to look up at Malfoy, catching the deeper meaning behind the invitation. There was a reason behind his request and Izar wondered if it had anything to do with the assassination in France.

He had to step carefully if that were the case. Voldemort made it clear that Izar was not to go on any raids. And that included his mission of assassinating the Dark Lord in France. But then again… when did Izar ever listen?

Izar caught Lily's eyes and she abruptly turned away.

Lips thinning, Izar nodded sharply. "That will be acceptable."

**{Death of Today}**

"I'm certain it was him last night," Rufus confessed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I have no way to prove it besides your own words and the way he _moves_. But Izar Black is a threat and one I am wary of keeping in the Ministry despite my lack of evidence."

The man opposite of him gave a lipless smile, his long fingernails tapping on the armrest. Some days, Rufus compared the man to a serpent in disguise. But then again, perhaps he _was_. All Slytherins were rather conniving. Rufus wouldn't trust one as far as he could throw him or her. Though, despite his wariness of the man before him, despite the rumors and all the warnings Rufus could pick up from the man's character, there was just _something _that Rufus believed he could trust in him.

An oily chuckle escaped past the man's lips, putting Rufus on edge. He wasn't particularly fond of the wizard across from him, but there were times Rufus could put aside that dislike and bend his neck.

"Instead of throwing him out on his arse, why not… play his own game?"

Rufus' yellow eyes met the dark ones across from him. "Meaning?"

"He's playing with you in great rapture. You are his new play thing," the man whispered. "Why not play with him, hm?"

Rufus rubbed his sore leg, closing his eyes briefly to give himself strength. "I'm afraid that is not my methods. I do not manipulate or _play _with another human being, no matter how dangerous the man may be. What I should really do is transfer him into another Department, perhaps the Aurors and seclude him across seas during his training." Suddenly, Rufus felt small as the man across from him shook his head in disproval.

"He expects that," came the rebuttal. "Despite only meeting you a handful of times, Izar Black has successfully stripped you down to your very bones. He knows your methods and he knows your actions before you even move. A dangerous opponent, yes, but he's also a Ravenclaw and a prodigy. It's natural for him. When he's curious about something, he doesn't stop until he knows all of his subject's properties. You are just his most recent experiment."

It was a mutual interest, Rufus acknowledged grimly. He had never met someone as intelligent and powerful at the age of sixteen. The boy was a threat now, but he was still young—still struggling through mistakes. When Izar Black matured, he would become something Rufus knew would be too late to take down.

"If what you really say is true," Rufus began, picking up and setting down his quill. "Then it's possible he could be the next Dark Lord. I need to harness this problem _now_, not before it's too late." He exaggerated the passion behind his words by hitting his desk with his finger.

"That's more than true," the man agreed, always calm. "Though Mr. Black has what it takes to become a Dark Lord, he does not possess the requirements or the interest of leading an army. However, he _will_ be something even the Dark Lord will have trouble controlling. Even now, he clashes with the Dark Lord." An amused smile crossed the man's lips. "But you must realize, despite his overwhelming sense of accomplishments, he is still only a child. He must learn from mistakes before he is a skilled and mature wizard."

Rufus narrowed his eyes. The man across from him had close contacts within the Dark Lord's followers. Rufus was willing to believe it was Lucius Malfoy, but he refrained from asking. Of course, it could also be the man himself, which is why Rufus had to proceed with caution.

"What, exactly, are you implying?"

The man across from him appeared frustrated that Rufus hadn't picked up his line of meaning. "The boy is just that, a _boy_. Prey on his insecurities. He's a worthy and powerful opponent; why not try to convert him?"

It was an absurd idea. "And how would you go about that? The boy is a _Dark _wizard."

"You have no originality when it comes to manipulation, do you, Minister? Izar Black knows as such and he relies on you being hot-headed and blunt."

Rufus lifted his lip, revealing his pointed and yellowing teeth. Curling his fingers into fists on top his desk, Rufus leaned closer to his visitor. "I apologize, but I believe those who manipulate and _play _have psychological issues that need to be looked after. You lot are not _right _in the head. So forgive me if I am rather blunt and straightforward in my approaches. It gets things done without the added headache."

The man across from him simply sat back, watching Rufus through impassive eyes. "I believe that Izar Black likes recognition and power," the man continued, completely ignoring Rufus' tirade. "In the Dark Lord's ranks, he does not receive such honor. He is just a faceless servant within the Death Eater army. Show him that he deserves appreciation and can be a very influential wizard for the Ministry. Show him he is _important._"

The Minister slouched against his armchair, tapping his desk in contemplation. "You believe he will crawl away from the Dark Lord and to the Light side," Rufus murmured, not posing it as a question as he already knew the answer.

Nonetheless, the man responded. "It is a possibility. And a possibility I am more than eager to see the results of. Consider it a test of sorts for Izar Black."

A tawny eyebrow rose. "A test for your purposes or mine? Or both?" Rufus suddenly leaned forward again, placing his forearms across the sprawled out parchments. "But for some reason, Mr. Riddle, I believe your expectations of Izar Black's results of this test differ from my expectations."

Riddle gave one of his lipless smiles, inclining his head as he stood. The tall politician moved to the door with grace almost equal to his political heir's. "Have a good day, Minister. And remember, France has contacted you in regard to revising the treaty of alliance Cornelius Fudge declined." The man gave a grin full of teeth. "I believe they are fearing their own rising Dark Lord and want our aid as quickly as possible."

The door shut. Rufus blinked at the closed door, growling deeply at the thought of revising the treaty of alliance with the French. They were a relatively peaceful country, one that boosted about their lack of deceit in their Ministry and their clean politics. And look where that got them, a rising Dark Lord. Granted, their dilemma wasn't nearly as bad as it was in Britain, but the French also wanted control over Britain's Ministry.

Revising the treaty of alliance would no doubt push Britain closer into France's hands. But Rufus didn't want to reject their plea too harshly or maybe not at all. After all, if the war in Britain got too difficult to contain, he may need to search for aid from the other Ministries across Europe, possibly in America.

But he didn't want _any _aid. If it was up to Rufus, he would send some men undercover and assassinate the rumored Dark Lord in France without the Ministry's knowledge.

The hell with Dark Lords. The lot of them.

**{Death of Today}**

"Not the place I would associate with you, Mr. Malfoy," Izar said in all honesty as he glanced around the pub.

He had been prepared for an extravagant restaurant with silk napkins and gold utensils. Not a dark pub that, granted, was nicely decorated and not as grimy as the usual bar, but loud and full of smoke and liquor. The majority of the seating was at the expansive bar, but there were a few booths and tables in the back of the room where Izar currently sat across from Lucius.

Quidditch games were playing on a few screen-like canvases and there were rowdy wizards slumped over the top of the bar, cheering on their selected team. Most of the occupants of the pub were nicely dressed, as if they were on business meetings or off work early.

Lucius set down a firewhiskey in front of Izar despite his underage and leaned back against the corner booth. "Draco and I enjoy coming here when his favorite Quidditch teams are playing," the blond replied. "I am a patron for the pub, and in return, they treat me with an exclusive area to sit each time I come here."

Nothing but the best for Draco, Izar was sure. If he remembered correctly, Draco was on the Slytherin Quidditch team at Hogwarts. Then again, Izar could be wrong. He hadn't followed the sport when he was in school.

"An exclusive area that we obviously need today," Lucius continued airily with raised eyebrows. "Tell me, what have you done this time to warrant the Dark Lord's spies?"

Izar, who was considering sipping at the horrible liquor, paused and glanced suspiciously at Lucius. "I'm sorry?" he asked cautiously, keeping his voice lowered.

Lucius glanced sideways at a man who was sitting a few paces away, sipping at his own drink and watching Izar and Lucius through lowered lids. "There are a couple of the Dark Lord's followers here, certainly not shy about their observation."

Izar had noticed, of course, but he hadn't known their identities. Lucius had been around the Death Eaters far longer than Izar had. He trusted the blond when he said they were spies. Which only fueled his anger toward Voldemort. "It's irrelevant," he responded stiffly, taking his drink and sipping it. The strong liquor didn't seem as horrible as it had the last time he tried it with the Dark Lord.

Lucius' mouth twitched at Izar's response. "It is no wonder the Dark Lord keeps a tight leash on you," he whispered huskily, his eyes alight.

The Black heir set down his glass, offering Lucius an unimpressed look. The man knew nothing about the relationship between Voldemort and Izar, and yet, it seemed as if the blond had suspicions. Just like Regulus. "You brought me here for a reason, Lucius." He directed the conversation back around as he raised a privacy ward around their table with a simple flick of his wand. "What is that reason?"

For a brief moment, Lucius seemed crestfallen to be turned away from his chosen subject. "I've done research on Acelin Morel and have dug up something rather… intriguing." The man made a move to grab something from the briefcase he held, but Izar quickly intervened.

"No," he hissed sharply, successfully stopping Lucius. "I don't want them seeing anything other than us having a conversation." Lucius inclined his head, seemingly almost uncertain of meeting with Izar if the Dark Lord was unhappy with him. "You said you have information on Lord Morel?"

"I realize you were assigned this mission from the Dark Lord, but I thought I could assist you with my contacts in France. If you find it insulting, I—"

Izar smirked lightly. "I am not insulted, just surprised you have moved so quickly. The Dark Lord just informed us of this… trip two days ago."

The Head of the Malfoy family pursed his lips, lightly brushing the front of his robes before reaching for his own drink. His rings flashed in the dim lighting, bringing glam to something as bland as his fingers. "Forgive me. I find the idea of accompanying you on this mission quite fascinating. Working with you has always intrigued me."

Pale eyes held his own before Izar shook his head lightly in amusement. "You're full of flattery today, aren't you, Lucius?" He tapped the table before him in a moment of pause. "I can assure you, the thought of working with you also interests me." Izar leaned forward, throwing away the flattery and getting straight to the point. "What do you know about Acelin Morel?"

Lucius' lips thinned into a gleeful smile. "He enjoys young blonds."

Blinking, Izar took a moment to grasp the full meaning behind the man's words. "He's a pedophile?" he asked in disbelief. What was it with Dark Lords and young children? But then again, Voldemort had a more than solid reason to pursue Izar. And the man hadn't even touched Izar fully or any other child for that matter.

Izar supposed it was a control issue. Dark Lords, or even just powerful figures, wouldn't trust older men or women in a vulnerable state, such as sex. The powerful figure could easily take advantage over younger victims and ensure they did not strike them down in the heat of the moment.

Chuckling, Lucius nodded. "It's not confirmed. But he is seen leaving social events with young blond men or women. They are usually of legal age, but just barely. Not necessarily a pedophile, but he enjoys them as young as he can possibly get."

Izar sat against his booth, staring at the table with consideration. "I know what you're hinting at, Lucius. And I am not certain I can agree with your tactic. Where are we going to find a blond boy or girl who will willingly draw out Acelin? Its possible we can use Polyjuice on one of the Death Eaters…" he trailed off when he saw the predatory glint in Lucius' eyes.

"I was always curious to know what you would look like blond."

Izar was quick to catch the hint. "Absolutely not," he replied shortly. "You expect _me _to be the bait for my own prey?"

"And why not?" Lucius persisted. "You are _certainly_ attractive and young enough. The only downside is that you have to act your age in order to make him leave with you. It would make him underestimate you." Lucius read Izar's expression and frowned. "It was a suggestion, Mr. Black. No one knows his place of residence. Social gatherings are his only public appearances. I have been invited to a gathering tonight and one next week. Next week is likely the best choice of action, as tonight is such short notice."

"Tonight," Izar responded curtly. "We'll do it tonight."

He leaned forward, placing his fingers to his temple. It was the perfect opportunity. If what Lucius said was true then Izar would only have the chance to catch Acelin at a social gathering. And a social gathering like _that _could only be invitation only. Lucius had enough contacts in France to get an audience with Acelin and his group. This couldn't be passed up.

Next week could have worked. And of course it would have been the more logical thing to do, but it would also mean Voldemort would catch wind of it by then and try his damnest to stop the proceedings.

This was Izar's assigned mission. He wasn't going to let Voldemort assign it to someone else just because of an argument over a Mudblood child. This was his mission to prove a bit more of himself to the Inner-Circle. Granted, it would probably anger the Dark Lord beyond limits, but at the moment, Izar wanted to eliminate the Dark Lord in France. The man was _his_. This was his revenge for what the man did during the Triwizard Tournament. Acelin Morel treated Izar as a simple pawn in his game with Riddle. The man probably didn't even remember Izar's name—just the faceless Champion from Riddle's government.

"Tonight?" Lucius repeated with a bit of surprise. "I know the Dark Lord confirmed that Acelin Morel was not a powerful opponent, but I have several sources that claim Morel is a force to be reckoned with."

Izar looked up, raking back his hair in frustration. "It wouldn't be the first time the Dark Lord let his arrogance run his opinion," he spoke harshly. Lucius looked taken aback; almost horrified by the way Izar spoke about their Lord. "Don't tell me you think the Dark Lord is not arrogant."

Lucius paled slightly, straightening his shoulders and dipping his head in order to hide his lips from Voldemort's spies. "I have noticed arrogance from time to time…"

"From time to time?" Izar countered in amusement. "Don't be naïve, Lucius, the Dark Lord reeks of arrogance. He makes poor judgments because he can't see past his own power." Izar sat back, slowly reining in his anger over the Dark Lord. There would need to be adjustments to the Dark Lord's character if Acelin Morel _did _prove to be a bigger threat than Voldemort made him out to be. But now certainly wasn't the time to think about his grudge against the Dark Lord.

Glancing up, he dismissed Lucius' suspicious stare. "Are you available to leave for France today? Preferably early afternoon?" Izar pushed gently, casually. He fingered the cool glass tumbler next to him, knowing it was probably polite to drink the whole thing. But he was just unable to swallow the revolting liquor.

Lucius sat back, his braid sliding down and across his shoulder at the action. His pale eyes glanced to the Dark Lord's spies and then back at Izar. "First," the man began with a whisper. "Tell me if you are planning a mutiny."

It was difficult schooling his features to remain unaffected. "A mutiny?" Izar asked in slight disbelief. "Against the Dark Lord who happens to have hundreds of followers?"

Fanning his hands before him in surrender, Lucius offered a smile that hardly creased his cheeks. "It could happen, Izar. You would be surprised who would follow you." The blond leaned forward ever so slightly. "Our enemies weren't the only ones who noticed your exceptional skill during the raid last night. You are a whispered name among the Death Eaters who consider you either a threat or an enigma. They first took interest during the Yuletide last year when you defeated Bellatrix."

Izar scoffed lightly. While he may be intelligent and above average in magical strength, he didn't think he could compete with a Dark Lord's strength. "A charming thought, Lucius, but not one I will ever consider. The Dark Lord was _born _to lead and take over. He has more seduction over crowds than I could ever hope to possess." The Black heir shook his head. "I have no desire to be a leader."

Lucius frowned. "Pity," he murmured. "I especially find it amusing that the Dark Lord shares the same thoughts as us. It's simply why he holds you so tight."

"To keep an eye on me?" Izar responded tightly.

"Yes," the blond acknowledged, tipping back the rest of his firewhiskey. "You could be a threat to him someday. It's why he's keeping you nearby." Cold grey eyes danced across Izar's face. "Tell me… is it suffocating to have him so close? Or is it arousing?" Lucius gave a lipless smile and a wicked light gleamed from beneath his eyes. "I would enjoy seeing the two of you together. Two powerful and dominant men such as yourselves. It would be breathtaking. Dare I say, viciously stunning?"

Izar studied the man through lowered lashes. Lucius was all but brimming with a sexual air around him as he gazed back at Izar. Earlier, Izar believed Lucius wasn't gay nor was he inclined to betray Narcissa in such a way. His sexual air was only a side affect to his brewing interest. But was that truly the case?

"You see us together all the time, Lucius," Izar replied.

Lucius chuckled lowly. "You know exactly what I mean," the man breathed.

Instead of becoming insulted or defensive, Izar gave a chuckle, brushing off the tension. After all, it was only adult humor he was participating in. Lucius was not pointing fingers at Izar and Voldemort's relationship. "I prefer easier prey to dominate over, Lucius. A hunt is always welcome, but not something as impossible as our Lord. The Dark Lord would only get off by looking at himself in the mirror," he boasted lightly.

Malfoy laughed again, the sound of true amusement. Izar smiled, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Lucius' exclamation about Voldemort keeping him close by was something Izar always wondered himself. Sometimes he believed the man was lying about the whole _mate _concept, that this whole relationship he shared with the Dark Lord was only a ruse to keep Izar by the collar. But every time he thought as such, he forcibly pushed that thought away. After all, now that he was a creature, he could feel the pull toward the Dark Lord— however weak it may be.

He was just having doubts about his future with Voldemort. About their relationship. And while it may seem pathetic, Izar wanted to straighten a few things out with Voldemort before he succumbed.

He wanted to run his hands down his face in exasperation. Instead, his fingers remained limp around the half-drunken whiskey. "Now that you know I don't plan on having a rebellion within the Dark Lord's ranks, are you ready to travel to France today?"

Lucius sighed, losing his good humor. "Of course, it would be my pleasure."

The man looked at Izar as if he knew about the restrictions put on him by the Dark Lord. Izar wondered how much trouble he would get into by disobeying Voldemort's orders and going on a raid with a few of his Death Eaters. Most likely a lot. But Acelin Morel was Izar's victim. No one else's.

Acelin Morel hated Undersecretary Riddle the day the man laughed at him after he asked Riddle to join forces in the Ministry. Acelin was likely still clueless that Riddle was the Dark Lord Voldemort. Nonetheless, he wanted revenge for his wounded pride. With the Triwizard Tournament, Acelin got his chance of getting back at Riddle by targeting the Britain Champion—Izar—as a personal insult.

And while the man didn't do it personally, he sent his daughter, Airi Roux to sprinkle the _Devil's Venenum _across his face during the First Task. When that didn't succeed, he targeted Izar during the Yule Ball with the _Vesania_ and Daphne had been the unfortunate victim as she drank from Izar's cup. And lastly, before the Third Task, Izar found out he had been poisoned with the _Acontium Folliculus_.

Riddle had already gotten his revenge by killing Acelin's daughter, Airi and her husband, the French Minister Serge Roux. He hung their bodies for the world to see during the end of the Third Task. But now it was Izar's turn. He had been treated as a simple pawn in Morel and Riddle's game. But tonight, he would be the one pulling the strings.

"Will there be others?" Lucius inquired, searching Izar's expression.

"This… social gathering we will be attending," Izar began. "Is it a political gathering? Or one full of his followers?"

"Both," Lucius confirmed. "It will not be such a large gathering that the French Minister will make an appearance. But Morel will be there amongst his loyal supporters. A few politics from the other governments will be there as well. Undersecretary Riddle was invited, as he always is, but of course he will not show up."

Izar contemplated if he should bring more than just Lucius. If he was going to lure Acelin outside the gathering, would the man bring his supporters? Or would he go alone? Izar wanted to make sure _he _was the one to kill Acelin, not anyone else.

"Could you invite two other Death Eaters and bring them to Grimmauld Place as soon as you are able? From there, we will plot our next steps." Izar paused, considering. "I will construct a Portkey. It should be ready when you arrive."

Lucius nodded sharply. "Should I inform the Dark Lord?"

Izar finally reached for the rest of the whiskey before draining it. He placed it back on the table with a sharp _tap, _internally grimacing at the burn. "Leave that to me," Izar whispered. "I have to inform him I won't be in his office this afternoon." An owl would suffice. Perhaps Izar could give Riddle the excuse that a few _family issues _came up and he wouldn't be able to make it in.

Malfoy stood up, smirking. "I will see you shortly."

Just as Malfoy senior was about to pass, Izar reached out, grasping the edge of the man's velvet sleeve. "Lucius?" The man turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "Let's keep this between just the two of us."

Lucius flashed a grin. "Of course, Mr. Black."

Izar watched Lucius leave the pub with an air of elegance around him. He then turned to the eyes watching him and wondered just how much the spies could report back to Voldemort. They couldn't know what transpired. But then again, even if they were clueless, the littlest observation they made could tip Voldemort off to what was happening.

He had to act quickly.

Why did he have to enjoy going against Voldemort's orders so much? He pegged it to the idea that he was keeping the Dark Lord on his toes. It was good practice for the old man.

**{Death of Today}**

Regulus looked up at him as Izar leaned against the doorframe of the parlor.

"Do I even _want _to know?" Regulus murmured in question as he observed Izar's blond hair and stiff dress robes. His father's eyes lingered on Izar's robes, his lips thinning at the stylish cut and high collar. They showed off Izar's frame, cloaking him in a dark green.

"No," Izar responded truthfully. He brushed away a crimped wave from his face, catching sight of the ice-blond color. He had mimicked Lucius' shade, preferring the white-blond to golden blond. It was a simple charm that would wear off in a few days.

"Please be careful," Regulus whispered as he went back to the Black tapestry.

Izar frowned, watching as his father murmured a Latin incantation as he waved his wand over the recently burnt lineage tree. Further inside the parlor, Aiden sat cross-legged in front of a magical puzzle. Yet, the young boy wasn't looking at the puzzle. He seemed to favor watching Izar with haunted eyes.

The Black heir straightened, offering Aiden a cool look before turning his attention on Regulus once again. "You shouldn't be wasting your time with that, Regulus," Izar hinted. "Why don't you focus on mending your relationship with Snape first?"

Regulus turned, flashing Izar an irritated look. "_That _will take me years to accomplish, Izar. I might as well focus on constructing the Black tapestry first. It will probably be far simpler."

Izar scoffed, mentally reminding himself that he needed to add a bit more damage to the Black tapestry before Regulus did find a way to fix the wall. He glanced once again at Aiden as he felt the stare bore holes in the side of his head. The boy was still staring, still watching Izar.

"Please don't go," the boy whispered, appearing far younger than his seven years. "There is so much. So much blood."

Regulus stood up quickly, appearing delirious. "What?" he demanded, looking between Aiden and Izar. "Where are you going?"

Izar's lips thinned. "I told you, you don't want to know." Charmed green and charcoal eyes turned to Aiden. "We don't know the extent of his visions. It may not come to pass, Regulus. Just relax." He eyed Aiden as the boy rocked back and forth, appearing almost green. Reluctantly, Izar realized it might be a horrifying gift to have as such a young boy. And yet, Izar was not going to pass up this opportunity just because Aiden saw it come to pass.

And who knew? It was likely Acelin Morel's blood. Izar was immortal. He would not die from blood loss.

But then again, he wondered the extent of his immortality. There had to be ways to kill both Voldemort and him. Would beheading succeed? Fire was almost certainly something Izar could not survive. The few times he was around flames, he grew uncomfortable. He knew the _Avada Kedavra_ would not kill him, simply because his heart was already stopped.

It was a topic he needed to bring up to Voldemort one of these days.

"Are you going to change his name to be more suitable for the Black family?" Izar questioned innocently. After all, the name 'Aiden' was not a star.

Regulus stared at him. "You cannot be serious, Izar. How can you consider going if he's seen something so destructive?" His father looked at Aiden on the ground before shaking his head. "You cannot go. The Dark Lord must hear of Aiden's vision—" Regulus came to a quick stop as realization crossed his features. "Yes. Where _are _you going? The Dark Lord forbid any raids or contact with the Death Eaters at his base."

Izar remained impassive as he stared back at his father. This was simply ridiculous. "I'm going to France," he answered truthfully. "I'm going to extract my revenge."

Before Regulus could retort, the wards buckled, signaling the arrival of Lucius and the other Death Eaters. With a quick lunge, Regulus leaned forward, cupping both of Izar's cheeks in his hands. "Please," Regulus breathed. "Be careful. I mean it." The man placed his forehead against Izar's. "I want you back here by tomorrow morning. Midnight."

A light smile played Izar's face. He felt guilty for putting so much worry in his father. Especially when he knew Aiden's vision was showing him the fall of Acelin and not Izar. "I will."

Regulus didn't look so convinced with Izar's assurance.


	48. Part II Chapter 16

_Egh. Very difficult to write. Also has a __**bit**__ of __**torture**__ and __**gore**__.  
Thanks for the reviews/reading. And a special thanks to Master of Slanted Edges for the wonderful fan art (a link is posted on my profile)._

**Chapter Sixteen**

"You _must _have something to report," Riddle snarled lowly.

The man before Undersecretary Riddle lowered his chin in quick submission. "Forgive me," he whispered. His only saving grace was his current location. The Ministry. The Dark Lord would likely save his temper for another day, away from the political scene. "But he put a ward up."

"But he put up a ward?" the man repeated back at him in dry amusement. "And you could not break it?"

"No, sir," Mark said in all honesty. It would do no good to lie to the Dark Lord. The wizard could taste lies just as well as serpents could taste their prey. "He had an incredible shield up. For being nonverbal, he did a remarkable job—"A pale hand was held up, halting Mark as he expressed his approval over Izar Black's spell work.

"I sent you, in particular, so you could _break _any charm or ward. Isn't that what you're accomplished at? Curse Breaking?"

Mark chose not to answer, knowing that it had been a weary statement instead of a true inquiry. He cursed himself for not trying harder to break Izar Black's ward. Mark was only twenty, fresh out of Hogwarts and nearing completion with his Cure Breaking lessons. It had been a surprise when the Dark Lord contacted him for his aid. An even bigger surprise when the Dark Lord _remembered _him and his talents.

It was flattering and overwhelming. Mark could barely lift his chin in the man's presence. And the Dark Lord wasn't even in his true form! It had been a year, perhaps more, since the Dark Lord courted him as a member of his army. It seemed like forever ago, being in the man's close proximity, being the Dark Lord's interest, but it was still fresh in his mind. And ever since that day, Mark had only salivated at the thought of being in the Dark Lord's eyes once again.

He had his chance and he ruined it. Yet… the Dark Lord might remember Mark just as clearly for failing. In fact, the Dark Lord may hold on to this memory so he could avoid using Mark again. It didn't matter that his Lord thought ill of him. As long as Mark was inside the wizard's mind, that was all that mattered. Mark would just need to try harder to impress his Lord.

Anything. _Anything_.

He closed his eyes, trying in vain to inhale and etch the scent of the man into his memory.

"Though, it shouldn't come to a surprise," his Lord murmured silkily. Goose bumps rose across Mark's skin. "Izar Black is a truly talented young man."

Jealousy, hot and thick, warped and twisted Mark's stomach. He opened his eyes, careful to look up but not meet his Lord's eyes. "Despite my failure, sir, I did observe that they seemed rather infatuated with one another. Almost obsessively." He couldn't call Undersecretary Riddle 'my lord' simply because the Dark Mark on his forearm forbid him to speak of Riddle and the Dark Lord as the same person.

"Oh?" the Dark Lord raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Mark drove on, hoping to dirty Izar Black's image in his Lord's mind. Despite the fact that Lucius Malfoy had been the one to show more interest, he wanted Black to be his Lord's target. "Cozy, almost."

The Dark Lord leaned back, a small smile crossing his face as he ran his eyes across Mark's expression. "And what, Mr. Lavern, would give you the impression that I actually _cared _about how interested they seemed in one another? Hmm?"

Blood rushed to Mark's cheeks in embarrassment. "I…" he stammered and glanced down again. "I- I thought you wanted to know anything that transpired."

"Indeed," was the only response from the man.

Before Mark could open his mouth to correct himself, a knock sounded at the door. The younger wizard stood awkwardly as the Undersecretary invited the unknown visitor inside. A redheaded man, around Mark's age, stepped inside.

"Mr. Riddle, sir, a message for you." The man held out a single parchment, sealed with a wax crest. Mark tried to squint at the Family crest on the back, but found he couldn't study it quick enough before the Dark Lord snatched it.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," the Dark Lord dismissed.

Mark watched, curious, as the man opened the letter. It was slanted in such a way that Mark could clearly see the thick and bold letters sprawled across the parchment.

_He is in France. _

_-R.A.B _

Who was R.A.B? Mark frowned, feeling another bout of jealousy. Was it a more experienced and noteworthy spy for the Dark Lord? And who, exactly, was the man in France? Was it Izar Black? Impossible. Why would the boy travel to France? What purpose did it hold?

Whatever it was, Mark most definitely didn't want to be the boy. He watched as the Dark Lord's eyes flashed crimson underneath his glamour. Mark took a step back, catching sight of the Dark Lord as the man caressed the silver Celtic ring on his finger.

"Dismissed, Mr. Lavern."

Mark all but ran from the room, frightened of the man's darkening aura.

**{Death of Today}**

"Having second thoughts?" Lucius questioned smoothly. "You seem awfully quiet this evening."

Izar offered Lucius a cool glance as they walked up the brick steps, leading to the expansive castle-like manor. "Just wondering how I can ever act like a sixteen-year-old," he fibbed lightly. "Though, I suppose being close to your son has helped in that regard." Lucius appeared affronted, yet he recovered quickly before Izar could savor the raw emotion.

The Black heir wasn't apprehensive about acting his age. No, that was the easy part. What still troubled Izar was Aiden's vision before he left. The thought of Izar failing had sent a cruel sensation across his belly. This mission was supposed to be a benefit to _him_. He was supposed to get revenge from a Dark Lord who played his strings throughout the course of last year.

When he heard Aiden's prediction, he had denied it heatedly, pushing it off as nothing but Acelin Morel's blood. Not his blood. It couldn't be his. Though, even as he brushed it off, there had been a nagging sensation in the back of his head. And the closer he came to France, the more it increased. If it was any other man Izar hunted, or any other time, he would have postponed his attack until he was more prepared, more likely to gain the approval of Voldemort.

Revenge was what made him dismiss his younger _brother's _vision. Voldemort didn't care about Izar's drive for revenge. The Dark Lord would just assign another Death Eater this mission. There was no other way around it. Lord Morel needed to be taken care of _now_. And Izar would be the one to accomplish it.

So, he took Aiden's vision as a warning. He would need to be cautious and submissive until the time came to strike. After all, Voldemort said Morel had no power. Izar just hoped the man was correct. He didn't want to be the one to witness Voldemort's mistake of underestimation.

Izar tugged on his high collar as the doorman took Lucius' invitation. Nonchalantly, Izar glanced over his shoulder and toward the woods. The sky in France was cloudy this afternoon, a few sprinkles of snow floating from the clouds. It was late November, certainly normal to see snow. Already, the ground had a few inches. In Britain, there was a heat wave. Not a sprinkle of snow as of yet. It was almost if the weather were affected by the brewing war.

When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he spotted two dark figures seemingly becoming one with the trees. Barty Crouch Jr. and Bellatrix Lestrange. Charming. Both Death Eaters were insane and weren't likely to bow back on Izar's word. Nonetheless, he _would _make them bow. They would need to remain in the background until Izar called for them. It only took a simple charm to connect their Dark Mark's to the gold bracelet he received from the Ministry this morning. All he had to do was tap his wand against the piece of jewelry and they had the ability to Apparate to him wherever he was situated.

"And your name?" the man at the door barked with a thick French accent.

Izar turned back, assessing the doorman icily. "Harrison," he hesitated just briefly. "Potter."

Next to him, Lucius placed a glove hand over his mouth to cover his smile. "My guest," Lucius supplied for the doorman with an air of innocence. "It said I may bring someone to accompany me, correct?"

The doorman offered them a strained smile. "Of course. Enjoy your evening." The wizard bowed low, causing the doors behind him to open with a subtle, yet noticeable creak.

Izar bit his tongue as he was forced to walk behind Lucius, allowing the man take the lead. It was to create appearances, but Lucius seemed a bit too smug to be leading Izar around. The younger wizard narrowed his eyes on Malfoy's shoulders. He wondered the extent to Lucius' inquiry this afternoon at the pub.

A mutiny. Izar repressed a snort in disdain at the possibility of taking over Voldemort's army. It was absolutely ridiculous.

Had Lucius been testing him? On Voldemort's order? Or his own? It was doubtful that Lucius would follow Izar if he was ever crazy enough to challenge Voldemort's position as Dark Lord. If Izar had plans for a mutiny, Lucius would likely support him just out of crazy glee to see what transpired between Izar and Voldemort. His support wouldn't last long, for the man kissed the ground Voldemort walked upon.

Turning his attention back on the hall in front of him, Izar thought it was stunning. Gold leaf painted the walls and ceilings, making the expansive hall look more like a cathedral than anything less. Scenes from Wizarding history painted the ceilings. In one panel in particular, Izar could see a Goblin war, the peach-colored creatures moving slowly, yet brining attention to the shimmering paint that was used. And then there was Merlin and his blowing metallic grey cloak. It wasn't surprising to see Morgan le Fay opposite of him, looking especially stunning and remarkably similar to Bellatrix Lestrange.

It was _spectacular_. Even the pure gold around the stain-glass windows were etched creatively with swirls and small carvings.

"If you keep up _that_ expression, you'll fit right into your age group," Lucius murmured in amusement.

Izar snapped his neck back down, glowering at the man. "It's breathtaking. I've never seen anything like it before," he defended himself calmly.

"The Wizarding world in Britain has a few cathedrals, but nothing like this," Lucius whispered as they swept deeper into the throng of guests. "Perhaps, after our Lord rebuilds Britain, you can convince him to build a few buildings such as this."

Izar thought back to Tom Riddle's summer home at the undisclosed location. It had been stunning with all of its windows and effortless architecture. A part of him wished he was back there, with all the simplicity and peacefulness.

"I would have thought there would be more people attending," Izar whispered as they stopped near the refreshment table. His eyes swept across the hall, noticing the small number of attendees. Most of the guests were mingling and dancing, but there were a few who were sitting down and eating food that was no bigger than Izar's palm.

France wasn't incredibly different from Britain, but somehow, the atmosphere felt… more elegant? If not graceful. But then again, these guests were most likely pure-bloods. And even in Britain, pure-bloods gave off an air of poise that even half-bloods struggled to imitate. It was something Regulus needed to work hard at with Aiden.

"Acelin Morel is notorious for his parties. He holds them almost every week and most attendees choose to come sparsely. Considering he keeps his private location disclosed, these events are his only means of courting others into his circle and keeping in touch with his followers. He invites the most notorious politicians across Europe, hoping to snag them as his own," the man breathed in his ear.

Lucius was facing the hall while Izar favored looking at the different glasses of champagne. The man was standing incredibly close and Izar wondered if it was fear that was making the blond yearn his proximity or something far more sensual. Lucius had already expressed his opinion on Izar's hair color, saying it should be permanent.

"It would seem as if he has already found his prey for the evening," Lucius murmured in slight disappointment. "Though, she most certainly doesn't hold a flame to you."

Izar finally turned from the refreshment bar, looking over his shoulder toward the large table. At the head, a man Izar knew to be Acelin Morel sat with a silvery-blond woman. She looked older than Morel's rumored preference, perhaps in her late forties, early fifties, but just as beautiful as any Veela. However, Izar found himself bypassing her in favor of the wizard. His stomach tightened in tentative and wary coils as he stared at Acelin. Izar's magic-sensitivity bucked before dissolving, leaving him in the dark about the man's magical capability.

There was something about this man… and Izar knew he needed to proceed with caution. Acelin may have looked like a bloody pansy with his golden-blond hair falling around his face and those dark eyes slanted in merriment over what his date whispered in his ear. But Izar was rarely ever wrong about someone. And he knew this man deserved more credit than what Voldemort had given him.

Morel's sharp eyes glanced up, roaming the hall before they fell on Lucius. The man raised an eyebrow, as if pleasantly surprised Malfoy had shown up. Izar braced himself, knowing he was next in the man's line of sight.

What should he do? Pucker his lips? Bat his lashes? Moan the man's name from across the hall like a wanton whore? It was an appealing idea, but one he would never lower himself to do if only for his own amusement.

What he hadn't planned was standing there stupidly as the dark gaze fell on his own. Izar turned from the man, bracing himself against the table in front of him. The air was thick with forewarning; alerting him that something was not right.

"You sense something?" Lucius murmured, turning closer to Izar and placing a hand on the younger wizard's neck. It seemed as if the man were taking advantage of their undercover identities. "Would you like to retreat and get larger reinforcements? You are a brilliant mind, Izar, you can think of something far better than tonight's proceedings. Tonight had only been a suggestion, one I hadn't thought you'd want to—"

The man faltered and Izar knew why. His own Dark Mark seared on his forearm, clearly expressing Voldemort's displeasure and fury. It took Izar most of his restraint to keep from clutching at it in pain and agony. He shared a look with Lucius, noticing the tightening around the man's mouth and the strain he was putting on his jaw.

"What, exactly, did you not tell me, Mr. Black?" Lucius inquired. "Why is he angry? You _did _tell him of our plans tonight, correct?"

Izar took a deep breath out of habit and offered Lucius an unruffled stare. "You're more than welcome to leave, Lucius." The Black heir straightened from his bowed position before turning to watch as Morel stood up from the head table.

"You're playing with _fire_," Lucius hissed, his usual ice-like demeanor melting into one of frustration and anxiety.

Lips thinning, Izar cast a side-long glance at the man. "Do you think I don't know that?" The younger wizard stepped closer to the man, grinning bitterly. "Sometimes, Lucius, I would like to do something without approval or permission. There are days I like to remind myself that I am not completely owned and that I'm my own person without someone pulling my strings. Unlike you, I don't have an escape from Lord Voldemort. While you only see our Lord when you are called, I have to deal with him constantly. Everything I do, everything I say, is observed by _him._"

He paused, searching Lucius as the man's face cleared once again into its marble-like façade. "I need my revenge. This is _mine_. He cannot take it away. I won't hold it against you if you take your leave, Lucius. After all, I pulled you into something without his permission."

Lucius' eyes danced across Izar's face. "I understand," the man began tranquilly. "You are not meant to be tamed and tied to a master." The man seemed pleased by this. "Despite the consequences, I would like to stay and see the results of tonight's proceedings."

Izar held his tongue in response. He watched as Morel approached them from across the hall with his fitting robes snapping around his ankles.

"Bon soir," Acelin greeted in French. His silky voice rivaled the texture of his hair. "I find myself pleasantly surprised to see you've accepted my invitation, Lucius. And you've brought a guest, I see."

Izar looked down, moving his body closer to Lucius as if to appear vulnerable. It was a struggle for him not to meet the man's eyes, but he was already standing on thin ice. Any abrupt or challenging move on his part would shatter the ice and make Morel suspicious.

Though, it _was _surprising that Acelin came over here so quickly. How long had the man tried to get Lucius to come to France? It couldn't be Izar's appearance that set the man in motion. One could not be that hungry for sex.

Could they?

"Good evening, Lord Morel," Lucius greeted back, placing a hand on Izar's shoulder. "I would like to introduce to you, my distant nephew, Harrison Potter. He has expressed an interest in coming to France. I thought your invitation would be the perfect opportunity to show him around."

Sadistic glee twisted his stomach as Izar glanced shyly up at Morel. Playing with people had always been a bright point for him. And yet, he knew it could have been even more fun if he didn't have to be so cautious about it. Aiden's prediction was still fresh in his mind as he locked eyes with the Dark Lord.

"It's very nice to meet you, Lord Morel," Izar spoke lightly, holding out his hand in greeting.

A predatory smile creased the man's handsome face. He couldn't be a day over thirty-five, which made Izar guarded. How could such an influential politic be so young? And one that ruffled Tom Riddle's feathers?

"And you," the man murmured back. He grasped Izar's hand and kissed his knuckles. "What is such a young wizard doing in France on a school night, hmm?"

Izar couldn't force himself to blush, but he lowered his lashes as Morel's lips lingered across his fingers. The black Celtic ring on his opposite finger seared, reminding Izar that Voldemort was perfectly aware when he was being _unfaithful. _He didn't know what was worse. The burning ring or the searing Dark Mark. Though, as soon as his ring acted up, the Dark Mark suddenly became silent in its fury.

"I don't go to a Wizarding school. I have a private tutor. He is currently teaching me about France," Izar explained softly, pulling his hand away as if he were a bit ruffled with the contact. He kept looking anywhere but Morel's deep eyes, knowing that most wizards his age lacked confidence and became submissive around their betters. "What better way to understand France's Wizarding society than visiting it in person?"

Morel chuckled. Poor Lucius. The man was left forgotten behind Izar.

"And your uncle signed up as the chauffeur?" Acelin teased, stepping closer to Izar before eyeing Lucius. "It's a surprise you were able to slip past Riddle's disproval, Lucius, for being so close to the man. The Undersecretary has declined my invitation each time I hold a gathering. Merlin forbid, I have no idea why," the man sneered before brightening. "But I would be _honored _to show Mr. Potter around France's more elite landmarks if you would allow me."

It was just as how Izar had hoped it would work. The man played right into Izar's corner.

Izar hated himself for reaching up to rub the back of his neck and smiling so pathetically. "I wouldn't want to bother you, Lord Morel. I know you must be a busy man…" he trailed off pitifully, glancing at Lucius as if to ask the man for assistance.

All that he got was a slight wide-eyed look from Malfoy. So much for the man's acting.

"Nonsense," Lord Morel laughed. He reached out, placing a hand on Izar's shoulder. "I'll have the boy back by eleven tonight, Lucius."

Lucius recovered smoothly, offering a light smile. "Thank you, Lord Morel. That is very generous of you." His light grey eyes danced to Izar, silently asking him if he still wanted to go through with the attack.

Izar cocked his head to the side in response before being forcibly turned away by Acelin's hand. Even if he wanted to get out of this, he couldn't do it now. Everything was going so fast, so quickly. And while Izar had planned for Morel to take him away from Lucius, he didn't think the Dark Lord would do it so quickly.

He gave Morel a sidelong glance, surveying the man suspiciously. Did the man somehow know? Izar hadn't thought Acelin would recognize him. He had been in the tabloids only about three times, and back then, he had been a few inches shorter and less matured.

Morel caught his eyes, smiling thinly. "Vous êtes très beau."

Izar offered a bemused smile in return, feigning naivety. "I'm afraid I don't know much French," Izar bowed his head slightly, well aware the man just called him beautiful. "But it's a very beautiful language."

"That it is," Morel agreed. "You would sound exquisite speaking my tongue."

"I'll keep practicing," Izar murmured dryly. He walked stiffly underneath Morel's hand that was lying so superiorly on his shoulder. They were heading toward the head table Morel had occupied earlier and Izar found himself eyeing the woman who was sitting next to Morel's empty seat. The blond witch watched as they approached, her expression etched of hard lines and even harder eyes.

"My wife," Acelin whispered in Izar's ear when he caught the blond witch watching their approach.

"Your wife?" Izar allowed his disbelief to come through in his tone. Lucius never mentioned that Acelin was married, to an older woman, no less. He knew Acelin was married once before, to an Asian woman. And that marriage produced Airi, the young woman who rivaled Snape in the knowledge of poisons and potions and later killed by Voldemort. The same woman who carried out Acelin's plans of attacking Izar at the Tournament.

It was all difficult to grasp. Airi's mother died shortly after giving birth and she was raised by Acelin Morel. But their ages... Acelin didn't look a day over thirty-five and Airi had been at least in her middle twenties by the time of her death. And if Morel was currently married to this older blond, then what was Morel doing leaving with blond men and women? Izar wasn't naïve. He knew that some couples committed infidelity, but when Acelin was _known _for taking home others… why was his wife standing for such embarrassment?

Her honey brown eyes were sharp and intelligent, almost too intelligent. Her posture was regal and confident, similar to Narcissa Malfoy but far more powerful and less delicate. Her beauty just seemed to be an accessory to her.

As he approached closer, his puzzlement and suspicion only heightened when she gave him a once over before sharing a secretive look with Acelin.

Izar didn't have all the facts here. And he knew he would pay dearly for it.

"Yes," Acelin chuckled as he came to a stop next to the blond woman. His hand was still curled around Izar's shoulder, caging him in and cutting off any chance of escape. That is, if Izar _wanted _to escape. "Harrison Potter, I would like for you to meet my wife, Marjolaine."

She was even more beautiful up close, but the smile that crossed her face was all predatory. Izar itched to offer his own smirk, as if to reassure her that his wand could go plenty of places, particularly up her pert arse. He despised adults. Especially when they thought they were above the younger generation only because they had the wrinkles and years to prove it.

Nonetheless, Izar's eyes widened a fraction to keep up appearances. Even if Morel somehow knew Izar was not Harrison Potter, it was better to be safe and keep up his act.

"Enchante, Harrison Potter," she whispered in French, setting down her champagne glass and offering Izar her hand.

Izar bowed slightly at the waist, cupping her manicured hand and kissing her knuckles. "It's a pleasure, Madam." Once he straightened up, he was quick enough to catch Marjolaine watching Acelin over his head. Subconsciously, Izar brushed his wand through his robes to reassure himself that it was still there.

"I will be showing Mr. Potter around France for the remainder of the evening," Morel informed his older wife. "Will you be fine without me?"

Her dark lashes lowered in amusement. "How many?"

Izar's brows furrowed.

"Three landmarks," Acelin replied simply, smoothly. He smiled at Izar. "Three," he repeated softly.

Izar nodded while keeping an eye on Marjolaine as she flicked her wrist in dismissal. White teeth, whiter than Riddle could possibly get his own, clenched in a vicious smile. "Then enjoy," she murmured. To Izar, she whispered, "And have fun."

The Black heir leveled her with a confident stare. "I will."

Morel bowed low to his wife. "Vous et nul autre," he sighed deeply, giving her a heated stare.

Izar tried to quickly translate it, knowing it meant something along the lines of 'you and no other'. His suspicion grew a tenfold, but he hardly had time to contemplate before he was pulled away from the guests and toward the back exit. Marjolaine's laugh followed at Izar's heels, surprisingly chilling him. Only a rare few could get under his skin like that. Even Acelin Morel had not distressed Izar as much as _she _did.

Before Izar was pulled fully from the room, he caught Lucius' eye and mouthed, _he knows._

Lucius took a step forward, but the rest of the blonde's actions were hidden as Izar disappeared through the back of the manor. It was risky to call the alarm so early, but Izar's instincts were hardly ever wrong. Acelin didn't seem to mask his own suspicions and his conversation with his wife had only been the deciding factor.

The intense and passionate emotion in Acelin's eyes as he looked upon his wife only meant true admiration and affection. It did not mean infidelity.

So why, then, would Acelin be known for bringing home young blondes?

Three landmarks. Three. _Three_ Death Eaters were accompanying Izar.

"Amusing," Izar drawled when he put together what had transpired between Acelin and his wife. His cover was blown. If he ever _had _a bloody cover. He attempted to pull from the Dark Lord's hold, but found Acelin holding on tightly. "You must think I'm rather thick."

"No," Morel tsked. "_You _think _I _am thick. That was your first mistake, thus making _you _truly an idiot."

"Playing on your vulnerabilities is not a mistake," Izar countered as they rushed through the kitchens and empty dinning rooms at a fast pace. "You enjoy young blondes. Yet appear devoted to your wife. Why?" He needed to know in order to sate his curiosity, a curiosity that Voldemort always warned him about. It killed the cat, after all.

Though, Izar needed not to have worried. Acelin didn't respond to Izar's inquiry. His golden blond hair became windswept as he quickly pulled Izar through the maze that was the manor. The Black heir allowed the action, choosing not to draw attention from the room full of guests. Still, even with his rising adrenaline, Izar could not get his magic sensitivity to work properly. For now, Acelin Morel was a dangerous enigma.

Suddenly, Izar was taken by the shoulders and pushed against the wall. Acelin's dark eyes glittered in malicious hilarity. "I have never betrayed my wife before and never thought of such deceit. But _you…_ you are rather easy on the eyes and full of fervor. And better yet? Riddle sent you. The Dark Lord of Britain. It will be delicious to taste you and violate every inch of you before I kill you."

Izar remained impassive. Despite the threat, the most alarming thing Acelin confessed in his heated French accent was the fact that the man _knew _Riddle was the Dark Lord of Britain. "Riddle?" Izar pressed with a slight laugh. "I will admit that the Dark Lord sent me, yes, but the old man Riddle had nothing to do with me being here."

Morel licked his bottom lip, leaning in close to Izar. "Don't play coy. It does not suit you well, little one." A long fingernail traced Izar's jaw line and then across his upper lip. "And neither does blond hair, Mr. Black."

It suddenly fell down all around him. His plans, his desire for revenge, his pride… they all shattered at the floor near his polished shoes.

Izar gave a roar in denial, rearing back his head before bringing it forward and crushing it against Morel's bowed forehead. A satisfying _clunk _was heard and Morel stumbled backward, giving a shout of surprise and pain. Dodging the man's lunge, Izar got a good fist in Morel's nose before he was taken by the collar and thrown into the table of silver pots and pans. The few House-elves inside the kitchen scampered away, their ears drooping in fear and anxiety.

The young wizard picked himself up from the fallen table, eyeing Acelin through lowered lids. The Dark Lord nursed his bloody nose. "Why did the Dark Lord send _you_? He kills my daughter, yet doesn't have the audacity to come after me himself. Is he frightened?" The man breathed darkly, appearing a bit ruffled if Izar had anything to say about it. "And what _are _you—"

Lucius took that moment to act as the heroic blond and rush into the kitchens. His wand was drawn and the scorch mark that blasted the wall near Acelin's head would have been spot on if the French Dark Lord hadn't dodged in time. But behind Lucius came Acelin's own forces.

Izar crouched near the island in the middle of the kitchen, bowing his head in a moment of serenity. He and the Death Eaters were outnumbered. They were on unknown turf—the enemy's turf. And someone had tipped off Acelin Morel about Izar's possible attendance and his possible assassination attempt. But who? The only ones who knew about Izar's mission from the Dark Lord had been the Inner-Circle…

He hissed between his teeth, his abnormal strength denting the ground in which he clutched. They needed to retreat. Yes, Izar would have to keep his chin up when he got back to Britain against the mocking and the prejudice. And he would have to survive Voldemort's fury. But it would save the lives of three Inner-Circle Death Eaters.

Izar jumped up from his position and sprinted toward Lucius. Throwing out an arm, he caught the blond around the waist and spun them around toward the exit. "We need to retreat," Izar ordered, taking out his wand and aiming it at the ceiling. Nonverbally, he crashed the ceiling down on top the French wizards who had just entered the kitchen. For good measure, he started a fire directly behind them in order to slow their enemy down.

"That's the best plan I've heard all night, I'm afraid," Lucius agreed.

The two ran from the manor and into the snow. Their dress robes hindered their movements, but Bellatrix and Crouch Jr. met them halfway at the sound of the explosion.

"You already accomplished your task?" Barty exclaimed in question, raising his dark eyes toward the house. Next to him, Bellatrix stopped and stared in wonderment.

Izar grunted, pulling at Barty's collar and forcing the man further away from the manor. "Not exactly," he murmured. "There is a slight change of plans," he hissed. Over Barty's head, Izar caught Lucius' eye. "We need to retreat."

They were nearing the beginning of the forest, their pursuers finally coming out of the manor behind them. "Retreat?" Barty laughed. "You're joking. I didn't come all the way to France to accompany a _child_, a mere boy, just to run. Our Lord may see something worthy in you, Black, but I find you incredibly immature and oblivious when it comes to—"

Izar took Barty's face in both hands, squeezing the head with an added bit of pressure. It didn't matter that he stopped running from the French or that the spells and hexes aimed at him were inches from his skin. He wasn't going to allow Barty Crouch Jr. to walk over him.

The older wizard hissed at the pressure Izar was placing on his face before going down his knees. Izar's bowed at the waist, pressing his forehead against Crouch's. "I honestly couldn't care a less about your opinion of me. The French were tipped off at our arrival. We are outnumbered," Izar breathed in the man's face. "_I _am in command and you can either follow my orders, or I will gladly throw your arse across the field and use your body as moving projectile."

Before Izar could lose his temper and crush the man's skull, a delicate hand caressed his cheek. The Black heir turned, dropping Barty's head. Rage and humiliation at tonight's proceedings made his vision spin. Across from him stood Bellatrix, her lips pursed into a pout. She stepped closer, pressing her bosom into Izar's chest. Cool breath tickled his nose before she leaned closer, giving a quick lick to his cheek. "I think we can take them," she whispered in seductive glee. "Your power… it's coming off you in _waves_."

Izar turned his face away from her, catching Lucius eyes before surveying the approaching French army. There would be about ten wizards for every one of them. His body was thrumming with small shocks and magical trills.

His lips thinned in determination as he watched a hex make its way toward him and the other three Death Eaters. Leaning forward, he caught the hex with the tip of his wand and batted it back to the advancing wizards. It hit an unsuspecting man who was knocked off his feet.

Izar gave a purr of satisfaction. "We stay," he ordered before taking another step forward. Distantly, he was aware of Bellatrix's cackle of merriment. His awareness of the other three became vague and blurry as he immersed himself with the battle.

Blood. And a lot of it was spilt by Izar's hand. He had no pity, no mercy, as he slaughtered the French wizards coming at him. Because they were ordinary citizens, and mostly stuffy politics, they weren't trained in combat like the Aurors. Izar took advantage of that and pounced on them with great zeal. He found himself admiring the crimson-stained snow more than his enemy's facial expression when they realized they didn't stand a chance.

The immense humiliation and embarrassment he felt about his failed stealthy assassination was used to fuel the force behind his attacks. Skin was no barrier for him as he ripped it apart. Bones were manipulated to be used their own weapons to spear their owner's organs. Before, the air smelt strongly of ice and cold. Now, it was unrecognizable with the spilt blood and the odor of organs being spliced open.

It was delicious. And Izar was dimly aware of himself laughing. Laughing. It had become rare to him these days. With no Sirius around, silly humor was hard to come by. Tonight, his laughs weren't coming out because of ridiculous humor, but because he felt so _good. _Nothing could compare to the sensation he was feeling now. Sex. Love. Nothing was as strong as what he was experiencing. His insides were warm and they felt as if they were too large for his body to contain.

As his opponent dropped heavily to the ground with a hole blown through his forehead, Izar turned, wiping the thick liquid of blood off his face. One thing he missed about being human was feeling his heart pump quickly in his chest, a clear sign that he was pushing himself past his limits. But there would never be any more limits for Izar to push. And strangely enough, Izar mourned that loss.

He caught Lucius' stare, blinking when he realized the man was gazing at him with horror-struck awe. Izar flashed him a toothy grin, but it faltered when he heard the _cracks _of Apparation. Izar didn't know what he felt when he saw the Death Eaters immerge from the shadows of the woods surrounding them. It wasn't the full army, but still enough that Izar felt insulted that Voldemort thought he needed a great deal of aid.

Lord Voldemort stood before his army, his long hooded cloak veiling any emotion he might have shown.

The group stood a few paces behind Izar and the three others. They appeared like Muggle scarecrows, standing in alignment at the edge of the forest and remaining stiff as boards. Bellatrix and Izar caught each other's eye, both of them relaying the same message.

They didn't want to share. Already, they had slain over half the French wizards. The other half would come just as easily as the first half. Extra aid would only hinder their chance of satisfying their own cravings.

Ignoring the Death Eaters, Izar continued his assault. Considering he would have to work with the Unspeakables from now on, he would savor this attack as much as possible.

He dodged a Killing Curse aimed by a brunette wizard before pivoting on his foot and thrusting his elbow behind him into his opponent's nose. Wasting no time, Izar brought his arm back forward, using his wand as a spear and slamming it into another opponent's eyes socket in front of him. He drove the point of his wand as far back as it could go, enjoying the warm fountain of blood hitting his cheek.

Izar grinned sadistically as he met the man's only functioning eye. "_Bombarda_," he whispered sweetly.

The man was allowed a quick scream before he was cut off by Izar's curse taking affect. The man's head exploded, scattering skull and brain remains around the snow around him. Izar huffed, using his sleeve and wiping away the life liquid across his eyes, all the while, searching for his next victim.

Though, he didn't get very far.

A rustle through his hair was his only warning before something heavy collided with his stomach. Izar sucked in a shocked breath of air as he went flying a good few meters before collapsing heavily in the snow. He grunted, closing his eyes against the slight pain in his ribs. Magic hadn't hit him. But then what had?

He stood up gracefully, ignoring his rib as it readjusted itself crookedly. That was one negative to healing so fast. There were times it healed incorrectly and the only way to correct it would be breaking it once again in order to realign it.

Izar fumbled for his wand when he noticed a figure charging at him again with abnormal speed. The golden-blond hair was evidence enough that the suspiciously inactive Acelin Morel was coming at him. And the man's speed also confirmed Izar's suspicion that Acelin Morel was not _human. _Vampire. The man had to be vampire. And Izar could do nothing physical to defend himself under the watchful eyes of the Death Eaters.

He spun away from the charge, using his reflexes to avoid another collision. As he thrust out his wand, preparing to roast the Dark Lord's bloody arse, a leg came out and kicked his arm away. Izar gasped as his arm socket snapped, sending his wand flying and his balance to fail.

"You won't be needing magic," Morel mused snidely. "Just you. And your answers." Acelin leaned down, smiling thinly at Izar's glowering form. "You have a lot to answer for." The blond leaned in close, blowing air across Izar's face. "And I'm going to get those answers. But not here," the man chuckled. "Far away from possessive Dark Lords."

Izar only got a quick glance at the advancing Lord Voldemort before he was taken by the collar and forcibly Side-Along Apparating under Acelin Morel's control.

Well… _bloody hell_… who said Acelin got all the answers?

* * *

**{Notes}** Hopefully I can get the next chapter out before next weekend. Preferably the beginning or middle of the week.

Thanks!


	49. Part II Chapter 17

_I said this chapter was going to come out earlier. I lied. I suck at hand-to-hand combat. *shivers* Luckily, I don't foresee using it again as much as I did in this chapter.  
Also, another warning for slight gore. Not much. And a warning for grammatical errors. Its late and I wanted to get this out...  
_

_Thanks for reading/reviews._

**Chapter Seventeen**

Izar landed with a hard _thud _on cool ground. He squinted, trying to stop his racing vision. Near his head, he could see his reflection in the frozen creek. His surroundings were that of a forest and he believed he wasn't too far from where the battle was currently taking place. Though, a _battle _was a strong word for what it really was. Izar had almost single-handedly taken care of Morel's army with Bellatrix, Barty, and Lucius by his side.

A curse sounded behind him and Izar used his fingertips to lift his body off the ground and flip himself around quickly. His knees stayed bent as he came up into a crouch, poised and ready for an attack.

Amusement bubbled through Izar as he saw Acelin nurse an open gash on the side of his face. It appeared as if Voldemort had gotten one good shot of Morel before they had Disapparated. _What _Voldemort cast was unrecognizable as the gash closed within seconds.

"You never fucked them," Izar whispered, staring at Acelin through his lowered eyelashes. "Those blondes that you were rumored to bring home? You never fucked them. You drank them. It's some odd fetish for you… to drink and kill blond men and women. Young. Though," Izar paused as his eyes locked on Acelin's dark gaze. "I'm sure they taste better young."

Morel blinked at him, a sneer still creasing his lips from Voldemort's attack before he grinned. "My… aren't you a smart one?" Acelin stood from the snowy ground and began pacing in a circle around Izar. It was if the man forgot all about Voldemort in light of realizing he had his prize right in front of him. "My tastes are particular. Those who have blond hair tend to have sweeter and richer blood."

Izar kept his back turned to Morel but kept his senses open.

"You, though… you have the blood of a creature," Morel continued. "Nothing I've ever smelt before, but nonetheless, you are not human. The venom inside your bloodstream makes you smell spicy. And your blood will most likely be thin. Not at all appealing for anyone but your mate."

"I don't know whether I should feel insulted or relieved that you think I smell _spicy,_" Izar drawled lowly, ignoring the man's comment about a 'mate'. He was certain Morel didn't know about Riddle being a creature. That was _one _positive to this situation. However, how could Acelin not smell Riddle's creature-blood like he had with Izar? Unless, of course, Acelin became a vampire after he met Riddle. "When were you turned?"

Acelin raised his eyebrows. "When were _you _turned?"

"At least a week ago, give or take a few days," Izar replied with honesty, a light grin on his face. So much seemed to have happened since then.

"Ah," Acelin began, keeping his pace steady as he circled Izar's crouched form. "And what _are _you? What toy solider has Riddle created to kill off his enemies? Not a vampire, but something similar, yes?"

"Your wife," Izar turned the subject around sharply as he glanced at Acelin behind his shoulder. "Is she really your wife? A Veela? Amazing, really. A vampire and a Veela. Who would have thought?" He offered Acelin a blinding smile. "She's rather old for you, though. Isn't she?"

He touched a nerve. Morel lashed out but Izar had been ready. He twisted away on the balls of his feet, landing a few meters away next to a tree. Through eager eyes, he watched Acelin Morel seethe. The man had his fangs bared, no longer hiding who he truly was. Izar chuckled as he examined the older wizard across from him. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of turning into his own creature. Somehow, if Acelin got away alive, Izar didn't want the man to know more than he already did.

"I'm just as old as her, you little brat," Acelin growled out. "The vampire venom made me convert to my prime. Fools that they are believe I'm using charms to make myself appear younger."

"Must be difficult," Izar whispered in mock pity. "To have an aging wife… or mate…who's Veela blood will not accept your venom? Such a tragic and unfortunate tale." Izar clutched the cold tree bark as he slithered around to the other side.

Something about these revelations did not sit well with Izar. He understood that Morel must have been turned after he and Riddle last met. But did Riddle really believe Acelin was using charms and glamours to make himself appear younger? Especially when the Dark Lord of Britain was doing the same thing, only trying to make himself appear older?

It could be possible. Riddle thought poorly of Acelin and believed the man only to be luring followers out of his money and position as an influential politic. Charms to make ones self appear younger was used widely throughout the wizarding world. And Acelin's appearance of the age of thirty-five wasn't as far off as his wife's age of early fifties. It wasn't that far of a stretch, so Izar could understand why Voldemort hadn't known Acelin's status of a vampire.

Or had the Dark Lord known and simply thought Izar could find out on his own?

Pushing down his anger at that notion, Izar believed that there was something more to this mystery. More to Acelin's relationship to _her_. Morel seemed to grow tense whenever Izar spoke of her. And at the gathering tonight, she made Izar feel unsettled. While Acelin had dotted on her, Marjolaine Morel barely batted an eyelash at Acelin's confessions of love and loyalty. She feigned nonchalance and impassiveness. Had she been hiding her jealousy about Acelin's choice of food? Were they true mates? Or just a simple couple?

"You don't know anything," Morel hissed, his brown eyes alight.

"Enlighten me," Izar grinned.

The French Dark Lord stood a few feet from him, watching him through narrowed eyes. The man liked to think he had the upper hand, but in reality, Izar was the one controlling the flow of this conversation. And quite effortlessly too. He wondered if Acelin really was a threat, if Riddle had been correct in assuming Acelin had no power. Vampirism gave the French Dark Lord a bit of an upper hand, but he didn't seem as dominant and controlling as most Dark Lords.

If Morel wasn't as powerful as Izar believed he was, then how did he know Izar was not Harrison Potter? There had to be a spy that whispered a warning into Acelin's ear. But who?

"Why don't _you_ enlighten me on the Dark Lord's plans?" Acelin pushed his own inquiry. "Most Dark Lord's strive to become immortal. And most of them succeed." The man's face darkened at this, just barely, but Izar was quick enough to catch it. "Are you just an experiment for Riddle? Is he using you to test out his theory of immortality?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that," Izar smiled thinly, moving behind the tree trunk and peeking around at Morel. "Though… perhaps I'll think about telling you if you clue me in as to who tipped you off about my arrival."

Acelin lifted his lip, revealing his sharp fangs. The man's incisors were near the same length as Voldemort's, far longer than Izar's. "If you will not give me answers willingly, boy, then I may have to extract them out of you." Acelin held up his growing claws, his shoulders hunching as his vampire took over.

Izar opened his mouth in mock surprise, backing up slowly from Morel. "You do realize the Dark Lord already began hunting you as soon as you Disapparated. You won't get far with the answers to your questions."

Acelin considered Izar for a long moment, looking a bit disappointed and thoughtful at the same time. "Can't you take care of yourself, Izar?" Morel lost his pensiveness before advancing toward Izar with measured steps. "I suppose not. My daughter almost succeeded in destroying you three times last year. As I've been told, you always needed the Dark Lord to cradle you against his bosom. Isn't that right?"

Izar lost his merriment, his smile dropping as fast as a heavy weight. His fingernails clawed into the cold bark in front of him as he watched Acelin approach him.

The French Dark Lord chuckled lowly. "Have I hit a nerve? Have I spoken the truth out loud?" The golden-blond head cocked to the side. "Was I not supposed to deliver you the cold and hard reality? You are _nothing_. Nothing."

The Black heir pushed off from the tree, lunging at Acelin. He had never used his creature to gain the upper hand in battle. After all, Voldemort reminded him _nonstop _that he was to act human. He never had the opportunity to experiment with his strengths or his creature. Hell, he didn't even know what he could and could not do.

Perhaps that's why Acelin caught him easily around the middle and tossed him away as if he weighed nothing.

Izar's back slammed into the trunk of a tree. Dimly, he wondered if the loud crack that sounded throughout the forest was from the tree or his back. He fell down on his hands and knees, frowning and trying to gather his bearings. Sadly, vampires were known for the temper and their inability to control themselves when they grew blood lusty.

Morel picked him up by the throat, raising him off the ground and hanging him in midair. The vampire hissed between his teeth in laughter. "What are you? A bloody fairy?" With his opposite hand, Acelin batted Izar's cheek with his claws, slicing his skin apart. "You're pretty enough."

Izar seethed, holding on to Acelin's wrist with his fingers. He was forcing his glamour to stay up as long as he could control it, but he knew it wouldn't be long before it had to drop.

The hand squeezing his neck lowered him just slightly and Morel covered Izar's mouth with his own. The younger wizard grunted, feeling sickened by both the man's saliva and the burning ring on his hand.

Morel licked Izar's lips slowly, as if savoring the sensation. His opposite hand grouped Izar's lower torso before cupping his manhood. "My, my," Acelin whispered into Izar's mouth, his hand roaming more boldly between Izar's legs. "You're rather _large _for someone of your… delicacy." Brown eyes opened and caught his own. "They say the more power and dominance a wizard possesses, the larger their girth is."

Izar remained limp in the man's hold, his feet dangling uselessly above the ground and his manhood reaming just as limp under Morel's attempted seduction. "Really?" the Black heir breathed down into Morel's face. "Then I can only imagine how small your dick must be."

Bringing back his foot, Izar threw it forward, slamming the toe of his boot into Acelin's pelvic area. The hand around his throat loosened and Izar fell to the ground, landing on the balls of his feet. With quick reflexes, he blocked Acelin's swipe with the back of his forearm before bringing forward his right hand and catching Acelin's eye with his growing claws.

He felt his glamour drop, but it only seemed to give him more strength to keep up with Acelin's brutal assault.

The vampire was quick, but Izar was quicker as he blocked the man's attempts. But because he wasn't trained in hand-to-hand combat, he fell for the man's feints and paid for it with a claw brushing his throat or face.

"You _are_ a fairy," Acelin breathed in amusement as he lunged once again at Izar's vulnerable throat. His eyes quickly scanned Izar's pointed ears and glowing green eyes before trying to get past the younger wizard's defense. "A failed experiment on Riddle's part, I'm sure."

In a heat of rage, Izar grabbed Acelin's arm, twisting it the opposite direction until it snapped twice. With his free hand, he punched Acelin's face. "I am _not _a fairy," he hissed, his fangs salivating at the thought of ripping apart Morel's throat.

With his first punch, he made a noticeable dent at Morel's temple. His second punch made the vampire's eyeball bulge and bleed. And his third…

He never got to deliver his third punch. Two hands shoved at his chest, sending Izar flying backward. Before Izar could collide with another tree, he manipulated his body into a back flip, touching the ground first with his hands before landing on his feet. However, as soon as his toes touched the ground, Acelin lunged, knocking Izar off balance.

The vampire moved with great fervor, ripping Izar's arm away from its shoulder. The Black heir screamed, feeling his arm hang awkwardly at his side, part of it detached from its socket. Blood poured and bone snapped. But Acelin was not finished. Both his palms slapped opposite of Izar's cheeks and the vampire _twisted. _

Izar's eyes widened and he fell to the ground as his neck snapped. The pain had been too great that a sound hadn't even escaped from Izar's throat. The Black heir pressed his cheek into the snow, unable to move. He should be dead. A neck breaking in half would have killed any other human.

Unfortunately, it didn't kill him.

Already, he could feel the bones try to mend themselves. He could _hear _them groan within his body as his venom healed his neck and arm. Green eyes studied the thick crimson liquid as it slowly tainted the white snow, rivaling beckoning talons. Even if the blood was coming from him, Izar still thought it was memorizing. Beautifully morbid.

Izar heard Acelin distance himself from his fallen body, as if he were gathering and strengthening himself before attacking again. It was an unnecessary pause. A vampire did not need to reenergize himself to strike the killing blow. They were uncontrollable creatures.

Then what was making Acelin pause in his killing blow?

The Black heir tried to turn his head, knowing if he kept his current position it would heal awkwardly and incorrectly. But he could not move. Instead, he stared at his blood, remembering Voldemort as he boasted about creating the most superior creature. Had the man been too arrogant then as well? Or was Izar just destined to fail at everything he did?

No.

Izar's eyes sharpened at a sudden revelation. Voldemort did not invent this creature to mimic a vampire's attack, he created it to blend in with humans. He made it so they would not become fanatical when they were thirsty. He made it so they could act like normal human beings while living for all of eternity.

Izar had been going about this the wrong way. He should not have met Acelin's uncontrollable attack with his own unrestrained assault. His creature was not a vampire. Only part. Izar was meant to be controlled and collected. Restraint was a strong advantage over the vampire's hazy mind.

"I'd rather not kill you," Acelin noted softly. "You are useful. And I'd like to know what you _are_."

Forcing himself to turn through the pain, Izar straightened his shoulders and neck, allowing them to mend correctly. He kept his face planted in the snow, keeping an ear out for Acelin's whereabouts. For the moment, he would lay low, wait until he was mended enough to attack.

"I'm nothing special," Izar whispered, feeling almost despondent when he realized that his confession wasn't too far from the truth.

There was a long stretch of silence before Acelin sniffed. The vampire ventured closer to him and Izar's eyes narrowed into the snow. His healing was almost completed. Just a minute, perhaps less. He remained as still as possible, even when he felt Acelin blow air on the back of his neck.

"You and I are much alike," the vampire confessed. "Both used. Both manipulated."

A finger touched his healing neck, and for a moment, Izar thought the man would break it again. "Manipulated?" Izar prompted, trying to steer the vampire away from his neck.

No such luck. Lips traced the fractured bone at the nape of his neck. "I thought I loved her," Acelin murmured. "Maybe I do. Or maybe it's just her manipulations…" he trailed off, kissing Izar's warm skin as it neared its healing. "I gave up everything for _her_. Much like you have for Riddle."

Despite his confusion over Acelin's words, Izar began to gain more control over the rest of his body. A quick shrug confirmed his shoulder was just as completed in its healing as his neck.

As soon as Morel's fingers pulled at his tattered robes, Izar threw back his elbow, connecting it with the vampire's forehead. Acelin growled, diving at Izar before the younger wizard rolled away. Jumping to his feet, Izar forced himself to remain calm as Acelin turned to him—his eyes dilated in crazed hunger.

It was far easier to sidestep the vampire's attacks when he was calm. His creature did not rear an ugly head, it only gave him enough strength to defend himself and send his own blowing attacks. His forearms were a bloody mess as he used them to block Acelin's claws. With each attack from Acelin, Izar slowly backed up, leading them closer to the frozen creek. The vampire never seemed to acknowledge his whereabouts as he put all his effort into assaulting Izar.

The Black heir calmly stepped on the ice, careful to balance, before leading Acelin forward. Because the vampire hadn't watched his surroundings, Acelin became vulnerable as he struggled to remain standing on the icy ground.

Izar acted quickly, reaching out and pushing at Acelin's chest. Through eager eyes, Izar watched as Morel tipped backward before swiping the man's legs out from under him. Before Morel landed on his arse, Izar delivered a powerful punch to the man's face.

Acelin grunted, his neck snapping to the side with the action. Reaching out, Acelin tried to defend himself against Izar's onslaught but the younger wizard grabbed both man's wrists and twisted them until they became useless.

Surprisingly, the ice stayed intact with their added weight. "Our positions are reversed, I see," Izar breathed in the vampire's ear as he straddled Acelin's fallen lap. He reached forward, piercing his sharp claws into the man's neck. Blood trickled down his fingers and began staining the ice beneath them. He knew he hit a main artery when the blood began to increase in volume.

Vampires needed blood to survive. They needed it in their system in order to gather strength. If one bled a significant amount, they lost their stamina. Already, Izar could see the predatory light in Acelin's eyes dim.

The man spluttered, his eyebrows creasing as he laid uselessly beneath Izar's dominant form. Even if he wanted to get up, Izar had his knees locked over his legs, holding him in place.

"Faced with death," the man started, pausing to lick the blood running from his nose. "You start to see your life for what it really was. The mistakes you've made. What a bloody fool you are…" Acelin gave a bitter laugh. "We aren't so different from each other, Izar."

It wasn't the first time the man said it. Izar was reluctant to press the man for detail, but found himself doing it anyway. He could humor the vampire until all the precious blood ran from his system. "Care to expand?"

Brown eyes turned from the snowy tree branches to Izar's face above him. Acelin blinked, as if struggling to remember their current topic of conversation. A small spasm shook Acelin's body and the blood seeping around Izar's claws turned black. "I'm not a Dark Lord like you believe me to be," Morel gasped out.

Izar's claws almost retracted from Morel's neck, but they remained stubbornly in place. "Everyone claims you to be the Dark Lord of France," he murmured back. "Even _you _claim the title."

"No," Acelin attempted to laugh, but more blood escaped at the action. He closed his mouth in a stubborn line, forcing himself to calm before responding. "I'm just like _you._ Just a protector, just a meager pawn. Though, I wish fervently that I was more than that. I wish I was worth more to her."

Her. _Her. _It was always her. Acelin's mind seemed to revolve around her and Izar could only imagine he was speaking of Marjolaine. And then suddenly, everything began piecing together. Izar's wariness of her, Acelin's obsessive admiration for her… "She's behind it all," Izar whispered in surprise before he covered it expertly. "Marjolaine. She's the Dark Lord… the Dark Lady. She's was acting behind you all this time like a coward!"

Izar reluctantly retracted his claws from Acelin's neck. But the damage was already done. Acelin wouldn't be getting up by himself anytime soon. He would need assistance and he would need blood before he could properly defend himself or attack.

Morel didn't seem to realize Izar had let go of his neck, for the vampire pressed his eyes closed, appearing almost serene. "I know what you must feel like, Izar, because I feel the same way," he began, ignoring Izar's exclamation. "You are powerful enough to challenge Riddle… perhaps powerful enough to keep up with him. And he makes you feel important. As if you are his _only_," Acelin chuckled again, sounding grey and weak. "But you aren't. He's always one step ahead of you, isn't that right? To him, he's the only important one. The only worthy. Yet you are so twisted by his manipulations that you believe you are something important."

Izar sat back, pressing his hands into Morel's chest as the words absorbed themselves into his mind. He hated them. He hated Morel. And he hated himself for even _thinking _that the vampire could understand his relationship with Riddle. The man didn't know anything… no matter how true those words sounded.

Acelin cracked open his eyes smiling thinly up at Izar. "For years, since I was a boy fresh out of school, I made my own way through the political ranks. I was happy with where I was at." His smile dimmed. "And then _she _came along and forced me to take more power, more political followers. Because of her, I lost myself along the way. I lost my pride… I lost my _mortality_! My daughter!" Morel's face creased into a pained frown. "But at the time, I thought it was worth it because we were in love. Because I was important. But I never was. It was just her. It was always just her pulling me along for her own uses."

The atmosphere around them suddenly grew bitterly cold and almost negatively charged.

Voldemort was here.

Izar continued to sit on Acelin. Judging from the vampire's widening eyes, he had felt the change as well. A dark shape seemingly flew through the woods, descending upon them like a bottomless shadow. Voldemort stalked the outer perimeter of their current position, never stepping forward or making his presence known. Even with Izar's sharp eyes, he could only see the Dark Lord's silhouette. Izar spared the man a sharp glance before looking back down at Acelin.

Unwanted pity swelled through Izar's chest. He understood what Acelin had gone through. And a part of Izar wondered if he was being blinded by his own admiration for Voldemort.

"Did Riddle know?" Izar questioned down at Morel. "Did he know Marjolaine was the Dark Lady of France?" _Just as he knew you were a vampire? _

Acelin's fear over Riddle's appearance suddenly vanished, leaving behind a bitterly amused vampire. "Of course he did," Acelin spat, blood speckles staining Izar's robes. "He knew. Rather surprising he didn't tell you about it, hmm? I suppose he wanted you to believe I was the one who was behind the attacks last year on your life. No. She was. He knew—"

Acelin Morel's head was suddenly sliced off at the neck before the vampire could finish. For a long moment, Izar stared down at the rolling head, too shocked to react. When he finally grasped what had happened, fury burned his throat.

"He was _mine_!" Izar hissed, slamming down his fists. As his fists descended upon the frozen creek, uncanny creaking sounded as the thick ice began to crack.

"You weren't even going to kill him," Voldemort retorted calmly, ice to Izar's fiery rage. "Besides, I banned you from every mission, including this one. He was not rightfully yours unless you had my approval."

Izar lunged, his claws lashing and teeth exposed. Voldemort caught both his wrists and pushed him away. Izar took a few steps back to gain his balance before glowering at the Dark Lord. "I hate you," he whispered with heated sincerity. "I _hate_ you."

The Dark Lord stiffened. "Go home before you do something you regret," Voldemort demanded sharply, taking an advancing step forward. His red eyes were bright in the dim forest. "You are out of control."

"You knew all along that it was Marjolaine, not Acelin. And you knew he was a vampire yet you didn't even think to tell me? You always keep things from me. You always think its some sort of _test _for me. I'm trying to be _something _in this war. I'm trying to assist you and _your_ war. And you're making it incredibly difficult for me to prove myself."

Voldemort remained silent, his eyes locked on Izar's. Suddenly, the Dark Lord tossed something toward him. The Black heir grabbed it in midair, staring down at his wand he had left behind at the battlefield.

"Go home," the Dark Lord whispered once again. "I find it useless to speak to you when you are foaming at the mouth."

Izar stepped back, gathering his magic and tightening his hand over his wand. Mentally, he conjured up and image of Grimmauld Place, dimly aware he had never Apparated so far before, but eager to be anywhere but the Dark Lord.

Izar glanced up, finding himself challenging the crimson stare directed on him. "Good luck, Tom," he bid farewell before Disapparating with a sharp _crack. _

The feeling of Apparating so far of a distance was nothing short of nauseating. It was if he were being squeezed into a constricting tube that transported him to Britain at a neck-breaking speed. His eyes slammed shut as he was spit out and thrown on the dusty ground of Grimmauld Place.

He barely had a moment to gather himself before he heard hurried footsteps coming in his direction. Merlin. He hadn't put up his glamour yet…

"Izar!" Regulus shouted from the parlor.

Izar hunched in on himself, hurriedly waving his wand over his face, mainly his ears and eyes before moving on to his fangs and claws. Usually, when he put up his glamour he needed a mirror to assist him. Hopefully he had completed enough glamours to succeed without aid. The last thing he needed right now was Regulus finding out about him being a creature.

"Regulus," he croaked, struggling to his knees as Regulus came jogging into the room. It was a bit difficult to swallow the fury toward Voldemort and act nonchalant toward his father. "I made it before midnight," he teased lightly, allowing Regulus to assist him to his feet.

His father's face was a mixture of emotions. Guilt, suspicion, relief… most of them didn't make any sense to Izar's hazy mind. And he especially didn't understand when Regulus leaned forward, peering into Izar's face with great intensity.

For a fleeting moment, Izar thought he hadn't constructed his glamour correctly.

"You look... hideous, Izar," Regulus moved his gaze away from Izar's face and to the rest of his torn and bloody body. "Did the Dark Lord assist you in time?"

Izar snorted in dry amusement before his father's words sunk in. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did you know Voldemort came to France?"

Regulus paled, chuckling lowly before backing away. It was then when Izar realized his father was dressed in his Death Eater robes with his charcoal mask clutched in gloved hands. There was no sweat or exhaustion coming off his father. So that could only mean Regulus hadn't been at France but he was currently being called.

"He came here after you left," Regulus admitted, shifting ever so slightly. "We will talk later, Izar. I must depart. He's been furious all evening. I'm sure he wants to ease some of his anger by initiating a raid tonight. I find myself pitying the unfortunate Muggles and wizards he targets."

Izar bowed his head. He could not find fault in Regulus for telling Voldemort about his whereabouts. He'd rather his father confess than to be tortured under the Dark Lord's wand.

Suddenly, his head was taken by affectionate and gloved hands. Regulus breathed warmly across his face before leaning forward and kissing Izar's blood-stained forehead. His father smiled brightly as he tried to smooth Izar's wayward waves. Charcoal eyes gazed at Izar with raw emotion, emotion that rivaled a love so strong that Izar found himself wondering if he could ever possess himself.

"I'm glad you made it back safely, my son. I was so worried about you. If anything were to happen to you…" his father trailed off, shaking his head in denial.

"Nothing will happen to me, you don't need to worry," Izar reassured, a bit bitterly as he thought of his immortality. He curled his fingers around Regulus' hands before letting go. "Go have fun tonight."

Regulus' eyes creased in pain, no doubt from his burning Dark Mark. "Keep an eye on Aiden for me. He's been distressed as of late."

Keeping in a retort about how Aiden had only been with him for two days, Izar watched as Regulus Disapparated.

He needed something _strong_ to drink.

**{Death of Today}**

A warm shower and a glass of wine really did wonders for Izar's nerves.

He was currently lounged across the couch in the parlor, staring into the lit fireplace. The grandfather clock steadily counted out the seconds as the hour hand neared one o'clock in the morning. Regulus had been absent for at least an hour. And Izar's Ministry bracelet had warmed over forty minutes ago, before stopping ten minutes later as Izar ignored its call. Raids weren't supposed to run very long, but perhaps Voldemort had been rather uptight and decided to extend his stay. The Dark Lord's ire was felt through Izar's Dark Mark. Over the hour, it didn't seem to lessen its intensity.

Briefly, Izar wondered if Voldemort's anger had to do with Izar's disobedience or the fact that he caught the Dark Lord on his silence about Marjolaine.

Izar sighed, tipping back his head and cushioning it against the couch. He had calmed down immensely this past hour and began to see a flaw to the way he acted in France. Granted, he was still angry with Voldemort for remaining silent about Morel's status as a vampire and Marjolaine's role in the war. But he wasn't angry enough to attack the Dark Lord like he had attempted in France.

Thinking back on it now, Izar knew he shouldn't have taken Acelin Morel's words to heart. While Acelin and Marjolaine's relationship was similar to Izar and Voldemort's, it was just as different. Marjolaine and Acelin weren't mates. And Acelin thought he was madly in love with her, which had blinded him to her manipulations.

Izar wasn't madly in love with Voldemort. He was perfectly _aware _of everything the Dark Lord did— the good and the bad. Which made Izar's situation different from Acelin's. Izar knew of Voldemort's manipulations and he welcomed them subtly. It was always a game between him and Voldemort, a game that was simple proof that they were interested in one another. It was fun and sensual. But at times, Izar grew weary of them. Weary of losing. Of being left in the dark. He supposed he just wanted to be as involved in the war as Voldemort was. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to be on the same level as the Dark Lord.

And he knew that would never happen. It would always be something he strived for.

Granted, there were things Izar understood he needed to learn by himself. But tonight's proceedings weren't included on that list.

As far as the Dark Lord killing Acelin before Izar could do it himself was understandable. Izar had disobeyed the Dark Lord, it was a suitable punishment. And there was also the fact that Izar had been _soft _and confused when he learned of what befell Acelin. Izar had been too soft to kill him.

At the time, Izar thought they were very similar to one another. But he knew, now, that there was one thing Izar had that Acelin didn't.

Dominance. Izar fought Voldemort just as hard as the Dark Lord fought him. Whereas Acelin never lifted a finger against Marjolaine. He let her manipulate him and his life, never once thinking that he could manipulate or fight against her. He _bowed _to her and became a submissive wizard for her to play with.

Not Izar.

Never.

A lover to a Dark Lord or Lady needed to keep them on their toes. They needed to enjoy manipulations and power struggles. And dominant battles were incredible exciting—intoxicating. In short, as Izar realized earlier, both the Dark Lord and his lover needed to be a bit… insane. Acelin was too sane. Too soft.

Realizing and analyzing tonight's proceedings made Izar feel calmer and more confident about his relationship with the Dark Lord. Things would never be normal for them. To the onlooker, their relationship may even be viewed as abusive or unhealthy.

A light smile played Izar's lips as he opened his eyes. Even if he came to accept his relationship with the Dark Lord, it did not mean Izar forgave the man. They would be having a small _chat _soon. One Izar was sure wouldn't end the way he wanted it to.

He glanced at the Black tapestry across the room, knowing now was the perfect time to destroy the tapestry or create a new one that held false information.

He hadn't planned on it being… mended.

Eyes widening, he stared at the Black tapestry. In particular, he found his eyes traveling to his spot on the tree, only to find a skull in its place. Shakily, Izar stood from his chair, growing cold as he approached the Black tapestry.

Impossible. It had just been scorched before Izar left for France. How could Regulus unravel the Dark magic so quickly? It was rather ironic that his father started on this end of the tapestry, because the other end was just as charred as it was before.

Izar reached out, touching the skull over his name with a light caress. What had his father thought when he discovered it? Despite the fact that Izar had been prepared to see a skull above his name, it didn't stop him from being hollow when he was face to face with it. No wonder why Regulus had seemed so anxious when Izar arrived back home tonight.

A heavy knock sounded at the door and Izar ripped his fingers away from the tapestry. He quickly walked from the room, approaching the front door with steps that seemed too slow for his liking. His stomach knotted with a sense of dread as he opened the door to reveal Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy standing next to one another. Both wizards looked worse for wear as they looked up at Izar.

Behind Izar and up the stairs, Aiden began to cry in his bedroom.

_Merlin_.

"No," Izar whispered hoarsely as he realized what was happening. He should have read the signs before! He should have _known_, for bloody sakes!

"_He came here after you left." _Regulus' voice echoed in his mind. Voldemort had been here. Perhaps the same time Regulus had found a way to mend the Black tapestry. If that were the case… if that were true…

Izar's vision became blurry as he reached out to brace himself against the door but his hand slipped, causing him to fall ungracefully to his knees. He shook his head. "Is… is he alright?" Through the fall of his hair, he looked at Snape, knowing the man wouldn't sugarcoat his response.

Onyx eyes traced his features. "No," Severus croaked.

If Izar's heart hadn't stopped beating so long ago, he knew it would have swelled in size before shattering.

_Regulus…_


	50. Part II Chapter 18

_Egh. Warning: Grammar errors. Hectic RL. Hopefully I can update _quicker _next chapter. After writing this chapter, I am finally happy with where things are._

_Thanks for reading/reviewing. _

**Chapter… ah… too many to remember **

Minutes sitting in the sterile and rigid chair morphed into hours. Izar sat as still as a statue, staring into his own mind as he attempted to block out the ticking clock hung in the waiting room. He didn't know what was worse, the clock reminding him how long Regulus had been in surgery, or Severus' and Lucius' constant _breathing_.

They were merely bodyguards, Izar knew. Voldemort assigned them to watch over him. Perhaps to prevent him from running into the hospital room and trying to give Regulus the curse of immortality. Or maybe to put a collar on his anger.

"He was slaughtered in battle?" Izar persisted calmly, staring ahead of him and away from Lucius and Severus. Earlier, they had tried to explain what had happened to Regulus but Izar had turned a deaf ear on everything _but _"he is alive".

Dressed in wrinkled slacks and a plain black shirt, Izar appeared just as disorderly as the two Inner-Circle Death Eaters next to him. They had just come from the raid in France. Apparently, from the bits of information Izar listened to, Voldemort had brought his army of Death Eaters to France and slaughtered countless of wizards and witches in his anger before bringing them to Britain and continuing their run. The Dark Lord had a temper. An explosive temper. And at times, he did things that weren't well thought out. Initiating a raid in France wasn't something Izar would have suggested. Not only did it give Marjolaine the initiative to attack Britain, but it struck fear in the other countries of Europe.

"Fool," Izar hissed, forgetting himself and his surroundings. "You're a bloody fool."

When the other countries of Europe heard about Britain's rising Dark Lord, they had decided to stay far away from the conflict as possible. But now that Voldemort made a foolish mistake of attacking another country, there could be a possible alliance between the other Europe Ministries and Britain. They would form an alliance out of fear, fear that the Death Eaters may come to them. And if an alliance took place, Izar knew the Death Eaters didn't stand a _chance. _

Lucius and Severus glanced at one another before calmly turning away as if they hadn't noticed Izar's outburst. And before one of them could respond to Izar's inquiry about Regulus, the door to the waiting room opened and Undersecretary Riddle made his damned entrance.

Izar sat hunched forward, stubbornly staring forward while clenching and unclenching his fists. It was early morning. Perhaps around three or four. Izar had left Aiden at Grimmauld under Kreacher's care. The child had woken up crying after a vision involving Regulus. A part of Izar knew he should have reassured Aiden before he left, but his worry for his father had outweighed his guilt at leaving Aiden alone with his tears.

A lukewarm hand wrapped around the nape of Izar's neck, squeezing. The smell of Riddle's soap was strong in the sterile environment of the waiting room. "How is he?" Riddle questioned softly, mindful of the few other visitors in the room.

"I wouldn't know," Izar replied shortly. "He's still in surgery."

"For the past two hours," Lucius expanded, a bit wearily.

Izar shook off the hand on his neck, unable to stomach Riddle's touch until he knew the exact details of what caused Regulus' current condition. Add that to the fact Izar hadn't been happy with the Dark Lord beforehand. "_I _am not forcing you to stay here, Lucius. You are more than welcome to leave."

Malfoy seemed taken aback at Izar's short temper but recovered smoothly. "I am here to give you support."

The Black heir shook his head, raking his fingers through his scalp. He wouldn't put Snape on the spot like he had with Lucius, simply because he knew the Potions Master wanted to stay. His reason was not to give Izar support, but to hear the diagnosis on Regulus. The man cared for Izar's father, yet he was stubbornly trying to mask it.

"He fell by a French wizard's wand," Severus suddenly confessed. "I didn't get a good look at the wizard, but he wouldn't stop tearing your father apart…" the Potions Master trailed off, his voice suddenly dry. The man cleared his throat. "By the time I got to your father, he was barely breathing. I had to act quickly. I attempted to heal most of the major wounds, but found his injury too extensive for my limited knowledge."

With his head still in his hands, Izar's eyes snapped open at Snape's recount. "So…" he gave a bitter laugh. "_Anyone _could have attacked him?" Izar looked up from his hands, giving Riddle a concentrated stare.

The Undersecretary, sitting calmly on the chair, simply raised his eyebrows at Izar's jab.

It was possible that Voldemort could have cast the Imperious Curse on someone and attacked Regulus in the heat of battle. It would be the man's tactic to do so. It was sneaky and underhanded, a perfect opportunity to destroy Regulus and then feign innocence. There was nothing that would trace back to Voldemort. It was a clean kill.

Izar shook his head, turning away from the Undersecretary. Rather touching Riddle was here at the hospital… almost if the man _cared. _

"Mr. Black?"

Glancing up, Izar watched as a Healer made his way over to him. The grey-haired man had a balding scalp and glasses that seemed to be slipping down his nose. Steady beads of perspiration dotted the man's forehead and around his brow. Judging from the man's expression, Izar gathered things were not as well as they should be.

"Your father successfully made it out of surgery," the Healer informed gently, as if Izar were a small child. "Most of the burns and lesions were healed remarkably well, as were the broken bones in both legs and torso. We got his heart rate under control and his vitals are in order."

Izar inhaled nosily through his nose, offering the man a withering stare. "Don't sugarcoat his condition, doctor. What's wrong with him? What did you _fail _to accomplish?"

The Healer looked taken aback by Izar's cold words. "He… he has experienced magical shock. He will remain in a coma for a few hours, perhaps days, in order for his magic to replenish and attempt to heal his mind."

"Attempt?" Izar prompted, eyes narrowing.

"There is a chance that Mr. Black may not awaken the same man he was before. Memory loss or mental retardation may result if Mr. Black awakens too early or does not properly heal." The Healer paused before continuing quickly. "The chance of such an occurrence is slim, but I must warn you of the possibilities." The wizard's lips thinned. "I must also inform you that we were unable to properly heal the spinal cord. The damage done to his nervous system was extensive—"

"He can't walk," Izar cut the man off impassively.

"In simpler terms, yes," the wizard admitted. "The Dark magic surrounding the spinal cord was too widespread. It…"

The man continued speaking medical terms and Izar found himself blanking out. It had been such a relief when he heard that Regulus was _alive_ but all this that accompanied the news was too much. Mental retardation and paralysis? If that truly came to pass, it would be crushing to see Regulus like that. His father was strong-willed and independent… to have him so dependent on others would be difficult to watch. His father would be a different man, a man that Izar could not relate to anymore. Izar would never feel pure affection coming from another human being again. His father was always the one who had shown Izar that it was possible to love and still be strong.

Paralysis was rare in the Wizarding world. So why did it have to be his father?

Izar bit his bottom lip, struggling to remain calm. Fury, so strong and hot, curdled his stomach. His fingernails broke his skin but he hardly paid any heed as he narrowed his eyes up at the Healer.

"You…" Izar began hoarsely. "Are a Healer, yes?" At the man's hesitant nod, Izar stood from his chair. He had a small advantage of height and he took great pleasure in looking down his nose at the man. "Healers are supposed to _heal_. Is that not your job?" He didn't care if his voice was rising in volume or that the other patients turned in his direction. "You have an unlimited knowledge of the human body and _magic _to assist you. How can you not heal a simple torn spinal cord?"

Anger swelled inside him and Izar reached out, grabbing the Healer by the collar. He lifted the man off the ground, seething. "I am an inventor," Izar boosted. "I invent things. Just as a Healer heals things. I will _invent_ a cure for paralysis despite my lack of knowledge on the human body." Izar thrust his face closer to the Healer's wide eyes. "And after I destroy your spine slowly and painfully… I will use you as my lab rat and enjoy every minute of it!"

"Stop this, child," Riddle scolded, pulling Izar away from the Healer. An arm caged across Izar's neck and shoulders, confining him against Riddle's chest. "They are just empty threats," Riddle explained to the shell-shocked Healer with a smile on his face. "He does not mean them. You must understand he is just upset over his father's condition."

"Take caution, Healer," Izar hissed, his teeth exposed in a scowl. He could not control himself as he looked at the man. His usual calm when dealing with people had slipped through his fingers. "They are _not _empty threats. I will hunt you dow—"

Riddle's arm pressed roughly into Izar's throat, cutting off any more threats. Lucius stood up from his position on the chair and gently consulted the Healer. "Perhaps it would be prudent if you gave Mr. Black his father's room number?"

The Healer attempted to straighten his collar, throwing Izar an uncertain glance. "43B," the man whispered.

"I don't need a damned babysitter," Izar murmured softly, trying to get himself under control as Riddle kept a restraining hand on his shoulder. They swept down the long corridor and toward the stairs that would led them to the fourth level of the hospital. "Unless, of course," he began with a growl. "You came here to complete the task you hadn't had the chance to succeed at tonight."

From the sharp look Izar received from Riddle, he understood that, perhaps, in his ire, it wasn't his best idea to entice a response out of the Dark Lord. Because if there was a _small _chance Voldemort had no knowledge of Regulus' discovery of Izar's immortality, the man would be suspicious as to why Izar thought he would try to kill his father.

As if reading his mind, Riddle took control of Izar's neck, and in turn, his legs, and tugged him into a supply room before closing the door sharply behind him. "And what task would that be, child?" Riddle breathed as he flattened his palms against Izar's chest and nudged him against the wall. The Undersecretary crowded him, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Punishing you for disobeying my order?"

"Obviously," Izar breathed back, fibbing. "Have you come here to mock me over my loss of control? Stand over Regulus' bedside and jeer?"

The dark supply room was lightened considerably by Izar's ability to see in dim atmospheres. Still, Riddle's eyes seemed to darken significantly. The man lifted his lip, sneering, before reaching up and grabbing Izar around the jaw.

"Lies," he hissed. "You believe I attacked your father, do you not?" The man shook his head softly, his eyes never leaving Izar's impassive face. "My, my," Riddle tsked. "You truly have fallen _hard _these past few days."

Izar stiffened, zeroing his gaze on the Dark Lord. His fury had yet to calm and he knew it was dangerous to harbor it when the Dark Lord was feeling particularly sadistic.

"Tell me," Voldemort murmured. "Do you feel as lost as you appear? Because I can assure you that you rival the image of a child lost and frightened. Accusing me of your father's accident is ridiculous and rather insulting. If I wanted your father dead, you can be rest assured that he wouldn't be laying in a hospital bed but in his grave next to his mother and father." The man cocked his head to the side, his glasses askew. "Though, your accusation does raise my suspicions. Why would you believe I would attack your father?"

"How would I know the purpose of you actions anymore?" Izar successfully sidestepped the question; evading the mention that Regulus discovered Izar's 'death'. "Everything you'vedone these past few days has been lies under lies as you played me like a bloody fiddle."

Izar curled his fingers around Riddle's wrist and moved the Dark Lord's hand away from his chin. With his free hand, Izar suddenly reached forward and touched Riddle's cheek. "I will be the first to admit," Izar began softly. "That I enjoy the games we play with one another. But there needs to be limitations. And you have crossed them far too many times."

Riddle remained silent and surprisingly quiet. Izar took it as initiation to continue. Keeping one hand curled around Riddle's lowered wrist and the other cupping the man's face, Izar moved closer, hating that he could still feel the overwhelming tension between him and the Dark Lord. Riddle must have felt it as well, for he bared his neck slightly, allowing Izar's hand to slide further down along his throat.

"Sometimes," Izar continued. "I find it hard to believe that you don't have a Horcrux. You don't harbor any emotion besides anger and sadistic amusement." His finger lightly tapped the man's Adam apple. "Can you even feel adoration? A sense of compassion? Love?" Izar dared softly. "I don't even expect love from you, but a little _respect _could go a long way." Suddenly, Izar's eyes flashed as he pulled away from the Dark Lord. "Are you sincere when you express the desire to be with me romantically? Or… am I a simple amusement for you to pass the time?"

"I apologize," Riddle spoke stiffly.

Izar leaned against the wall, veiling his surprise at the man's apology. He couldn't remember the last time the Dark Lord had apologized for _anything_.

"I was out of turn when I demanded you to get rid of the Muggle child." Riddle's shoulders were stiff as he gazed down at Izar. "Though, I will stand by my opinion. It was an unwise decision on your part. Not only leaving in the middle of the raid by also taking a _Mudblood _child." The man suddenly swooped forward, caging Izar against the wall with two solid arms on either side of his body. "But that is all I will apologize for."

Izar clicked his teeth together, snarling at the man. "And what of Acelin Morel? And his bloody lover? And what of Regulus?"

"You are completely unstable," Riddle breathed in mock amazement. He pulled away from Izar, pacing the small storage room as he considered his next choice of words.

Izar watched the man pace, feeling his fury and temper rise. Was the man just planning on more manipulations? Izar was becoming impatient with the amount of time Riddle was taking to respond. He needed to get to Regulus before…

"You are unstable," Riddle began again as if to come to terms with it. He turned slightly to eye Izar against the wall. "Someone has harmed the one you love," he said snidely. "You are frantic with… _worry _and anger. You need someone to blame besides a nameless French man. So, you are distrusting my word that I had no hand in your father's condition just so you can put the guilt on someone."

"That's ridiculous—"

"It is," Riddle agreed. "It does not surprise me that you find little trust in me. I have given you no reason to think otherwise. You only have my continued word that I never wish to see harm befall you." He turned fully toward Izar. "Nevertheless, I tire of your constant blame. And your constant… _childish _temper. Where is your proof that I attacked your father? Where the proof that I knew Acelin Morel was a vampire and his _lover_ the Dark Lady of France? Until you have such proof, you may act accordingly. Though, acting accordingly does not involve throwing tantrums and cold shoulders. You get _even _with me."

Izar suddenly felt cold realization stain his gut and chest. He had been doing just as the Dark Lord accused him of. Tantrums. Cold shoulders. Like he was some bloody Hufflepuff who jumped to conclusions.

If he thought deeply about it, Voldemort gained nothing by keeping Lady Marjolaine a secret. And if the Dark Lord was responsible for attacking Regulus, the man would have finished the job. Regulus would be dead. Not struggling for his life.

When Voldemort angered him, Izar usually thought of ways to spite the man. For instance, last night after the raid, when the Dark Lord forbid Izar any interaction with the Death Eaters over his decision to keep Aiden, Izar had gotten back at the man by going to France today. Izar hadn't seen anything wrong with his relationship with the Dark Lord then. But now, now he was growing weak and vulnerable in front of the Dark Lord. Wanting the man to show _love_ and fairness? While he wanted more respect from the man, he wouldn't achieve that by expressing unfairness.

What had changed since this morning?

The answer came to him quickly. Acelin and Regulus' attack happened.

"The vampire twisted you as easily as one would wind up a Muggle toy." Voldemort confirmed Izar's silent and mental assumptions. "He found your buried vulnerabilities and laid them out in front of you. The man wasn't even _married _or romantically attached to Marjolaine."

The man spoke the truth. Despite Izar's reassurance to himself tonight, before Regulus' attack, the vampire's words had cut deeply in him. Izar held a sliver of doubt when it came to Voldemort and his relationship and Morel had played on it remarkably well.

Izar felt ashamed for even taking the man's words seriously. He bowed his head slightly before catching his submission and quickly looking back up. "I slipped," he murmured. "Just this once, I slipped and allowed my enemy to get the better of me. It won't happen again," he vowed with heated intensity, knowing that he spoke the truth, that he would never be slighted _again. _Ever.

Riddle had long since stopped inches from Izar and now leaned forward. "You will have plenty of time to prepare yourself."

Izar frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I will reevaluate your mental health at Yuletide. If you prove that you are ready to continue participating logically in this war, I will allow you back into my ranks."

Izar reared his head back, hissing. Yuletide wasn't too far away, a couple of weeks, but… "I am perfectly fine to continue _now_. If you think Acelin truly twisted me that much, you are mistaken—"

The younger remained rigid as Riddle ran a hand across his hips before pulling Izar against his thin chest. Izar clenched his teeth in fury, unable to move even as Riddle ran his fingers through his hair. The caress through his scalp wasn't tender by any means. Long fingers tugged almost painfully at the roots, causing his already unruly waves to stand on end at the pain and manipulation.

"You have learned your lesson well with Morel. You are lucky to learn such a lesson with an enemy so easily defeated, and defeated, you did well."

The man became silent again, but Izar kept his tongue in check. If he spoke, he knew he would lose control and Riddle would only consider Izar as _unstable_. His rebuff would only serve as proof for the Dark Lord to keep Izar away from the war. He would _not _give the man the satisfaction of acting up.

Riddle continued to cradle Izar against him, almost purring at having him so submissive in his arms. But they both knew Izar was just a coiled serpent, ready to strike if the situation proved to worsen.

"The reason you will be pulled from my ranks is so you will be able to recover from your father's… condition. He will not recover successfully. And in your concern over him, you are unbalanced. I will not have one of my top Death Eaters slip. Be lucky it is so early in the war and that I am _giving _you time to recover. It would not be possible if we were in the midst of a conclusion."

"He will recover," Izar retorted stiffly. "And I need war to distract me." Despite only being banned from the Death Eaters for two full days, Izar already missed being part of the army.

"So you can lose control like you did in the waiting room? I will not allow you to lose your footing when you are so unstable. Your father is destined to die before you, it was only a matter of time before this happened." The man wasn't trying to be cold. Voldemort actually believed that he was being relatively gentle with Izar.

He couldn't help it. Izar raked his fingernails down Riddle's robes, ripping them at the chest. "You are a heartless bastard," he growled.

Riddle's mouth quirked before he lunged, grabbing Izar by the face and connecting their lips together fiercely. Izar squeezed his eyes closed, hating himself for pushing back against the Dark Lord. He blamed it on his volatility. He blamed it on his Black genes that bred insanity deep within his bones. He blamed it on Regulus for allowing someone to get the better of him during battle.

Merlin… Voldemort was an intoxication. Both an unwanted and wanted intoxication.

Izar knew the Dark Lord was clueless about Regulus' knowledge of Izar's death. The Dark Lord had not attacked his father in battle and Izar's mood had lifted with the conclusion. Though, he knew he would need to hide it from the Dark Lord. Oddly enough, the idea of hiding Regulus' discovery from the Dark Lord appealed to him more than it should have.

Their kiss grew heated with the irritation coming from Izar and the smugness emitting from Riddle. There was something rather disquieting and alluring about kissing the older Undersecretary Riddle. When the Dark Lord was in this form, Izar felt as if he had more of a chance at domination.

His fingers embedded forcibly at Riddle's neck, pushing the man deeper into the kiss. But when Riddle took it as an invitation to do the same to Izar, the Black heir pulled away, glowering.

Riddle chuckled, his eyes alight. "This doesn't mean you are allowed back in the ranks. Yuletide, child. Then you may show me that you're ready." The man pulled away, appearing almost… reluctant.

"I will not appease you by coming to your office during the week," Izar declared. "If I cannot participate in battle, then I will not participate in your dull politics."

The Undersecretary waved a hand lazily. "I was going to suggest it," he replied flippantly. "Enjoy the extra hours with your mother at the Department of Mysteries."

Izar's fingers curled at his sides. He knew the Dark Lord viewed him as weak at the moment and wouldn't want Izar around him until he recovered. Any show of emotion, especially grief and misery was frowned upon. And Izar full heartedly agreed. But he couldn't stop himself grieving over Regulus. He _could, _however, try to prove to Voldemort that he was capable of playing even when his father struggled for his life.

Through lowered lashes, he watched as Riddle reached for the door to the supply room. "Did you know of Acelin and Marjolaine?" His question came through as measured and commanding.

Riddle paused, turning ever so slightly toward Izar. The man's gaze pierced through Izar, chilling him. "Ask and you shall _always_ receive, child. Within reason," Riddle whispered silkily. "I had my suspicions about Marjolaine, yes, but I could not confirm them until your foolish flight to France. As for Acelin Morel, no. I did not know he was a vampire. I believed his narcissism was what kept him young."

There was so much more Izar wanted to ask, so much more he needed to speak with to Voldemort. But he knew now wasn't the time nor the place. He was still unhappy with the Dark Lord, but the weight of Acelin's words seemed to disappear. Truly disappear this time.

There was no longer any lingering doubt of his relationship with Voldemort. Simply because Voldemort _did _manipulate and deceive him at times and Izar welcomed it with open arms. For he would watch the Dark Lord closely and absorb the man's techniques. And when the time came, Izar _would_, one day, conquer the Dark Lord with his own manipulations. The day had not yet come, but Izar was positive that he would level their playing field.

As for the _other _part of their relationship, Izar knew it was there but they both hid it well. They both desired one another and they both… cared for and admired one another despite their preferred way of keeping each other on their toes. Perhaps, one day, it may turn to love—a deep-seated love that would scarcely be expressed—but it would be there.

Riddle's blinding smile brought Izar quickly back to the present. The Black heir crossed his arms over his chest, on guard just in case Riddle planned another verbal attack before he departed.

"I must express my relief that Acelin was a vampire," the Undersecretary admitted, his lethal smile still in place. "I took _great _enjoyment of putting his head back in place and reviving him after you departed. He paid dearly for touching what is _mine_." Riddle's eyes ran down the length of Izar.

Izar was not impressed with the fierce possessiveness in the man's tone. "Your twisted sense of romantic expressions always manages to make my frozen heart flutter," he drawled.

Riddle's gaze finally tore away from his body and back on his face. A shadow of a smile crossed the man's lips before he turned his back on Izar. "My door is always open, child."

With that, the man departed with as much grace as possible for exiting a storage room. Izar was left behind, his eyes blankly staring at the position that was just occupied by Undersecretary Riddle. In all ways, the man's parting words was simply an invitation for Izar to seek out his support if he was ever in need.

The Black heir bowed his head tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. While he still felt weary and irritated at the Dark Lord, he also felt sturdier after his conversation with Voldemort. Somehow, the man always assisted Izar in putting back up his shields and pushing him back on the very tips of his toes. The man was all-knowing… he knew just how to push and prod Izar in order to straighten him back up.

Sadly, it didn't last long when he finally had the chance to see Regulus.

_**{Death of Today}**_

The first few days, Izar had proved Riddle correct and stayed stubbornly, weakly, by Regulus' bedside. He dismissed the slight burn in his Dark Mark when the Death Eaters went on another raid a few days later and he ignored his warming Ministry bracelet. As far as Izar knew, the world continued to spin around him despite his stillness.

The _Daily Prophet _reported on the Death Eater attack the night of Regulus' attack, but they never mentioned anything about the Death Eaters uprooting France. Voldemort must not have left his Mark in France which Izar was eternally grateful for. It turned out the man had some common sense after all.

The only thing reported in the _Prophet _about France was Acelin Morel's disappearance.

Undersecretary Riddle was also seen being quoted in the _Prophet, _a rarity. Izar knew the man was slowly emerging from the shadows and making his voice known. Riddle expressed his condolences for the victims of the latest Death Eater attack, but remained otherwise silent. Soon, the man would begin convincing the public of changes. The public would rebuttal against the outrageous changes Riddle had to offer, but when Rufus Scrimgeour began to fail to keep Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters at bay, the public would eventually become desperate for _something_ and agree to Riddle's suggestions.

But that would still be a few months away—a long way to go. And there may be unmoving obstacles that landed in the way of Voldemort's goal. Time was ever changing.

Sirius Black had stopped by once at St. Mungo's when he heard of Regulus' condition. Izar made certain Regulus' state of health was hushed as best as it could be. There was no way in hell he would allow the _Prophet _to get their greedy hands on the Head of the Black family's vulnerability.

Nonetheless, Izar hadn't emerged from his haziness when Sirius had been present. He distinctively remembered Sirius expressing his condolences before leaving at Izar's continued silence. After all, the man wouldn't want to stay close, for there was another occupant who sat beside Regulus almost as often as Izar.

Severus Snape.

The man would return everyday after classes at Hogwarts and sit silently beside Regulus. Izar would always watch the Potions Master wordlessly, knowing the man was using Legilimency on Regulus. Snape had come up with the idea of using Legilimency to make sure Regulus stayed in his coma long enough to heal… to make _certain _he didn't awaken with any mental damage. At the time, Izar hadn't thought much about Snape's plan, his eyes and attention absorbed on watching Regulus' thin chest rise and fall.

The day Izar snapped out of his hazy reverie was the day Snape finally spoke to him.

"He doesn't want you dwelling over him," the man had suddenly spoken after a few hours inside Regulus' mind.

Izar had torn his eyes from Regulus' scarred face and stared blankly at Snape. After a couple of days, the blood-red lesions on Regulus' face had had lightened and healed, but a few scars had taken permanent residence across his cheeks and forehead.

"Excuse me?" Izar's voice had croaked with the lack of use.

The onyx eyes of Snape had pierced him across Regulus' prone body. "He tells me you have a duty to uphold. He sends his gratitude over your concern for him, but expressed his disappointment that you have not been continuing on your duties."

Regulus expressed his disappointment….

Just like Voldemort, Regulus had been disappointed in Izar.

After Snape admitted Regulus' inner-thoughts, Izar had stood up numbly from the chair and stiffly walked out of St. Mungo's with his mind racing.

How could he _not_ sit beside Regulus and feel grief over the image before him? His father would never walk again and he would carry scars that marred his handsome face. Seeing his father lying on the bed so vulnerably and unresponsively made something inside Izar shatter.

He had never experienced loss before. Though, he had never loved someone as much as he loved his father. Suddenly, he understood why attachments were viewed as weak. When an attachment passed away, it tore at one's resolve until they could not focus on anything but the grief and the onslaught of memories that they could no longer experience again. Izar was proof enough of such a weakness. He had spent a week beside his father's side, ignoring the world and everyone living in it.

And Regulus wasn't even _dead. _But sitting in the uncomfortable chair beside his father, Izar realized that he wasn't mourning Regulus' condition as much as he was thinking about the future. They would be exactly like this one day. Only, while Izar would remain untouched by time, Regulus would have deep wrinkles and silver hair. Izar would be sitting beside his father, watching as the man took one last intake of air before all was still. And then Izar would be assaulted with a loss many times stronger then what he was feeling currently.

He began to question himself if it would be prudent to distance himself from Regulus before that time came. Would it lessen the feeling of utter helplessness?

As Izar pondered on attachments, he wondered if it was worth sacrificing the admiration and memories just so he wouldn't feel pain in the end. No. It was not worth it. Izar would rather know his father and create memories with him rather than alienating the man just because he was afraid of losing him.

When he realized this, he finally snapped from his haze.

While his chest was still heavy with worry for Regulus, Izar's mind had sharpened and lapsed back to its usual state. It was the weekend, which meant Izar had two full days before he returned to the Ministry and the Unspeakables.

With that in mind, Izar chose to begin on a project he had both dreaded and salivated over.

Voldemort's fake Horcruxes—the very same invention Izar planned on being the turning point of the war. He wanted to create an artifact that would mimic the affect of a Horcrux. If Dumbledore was so set on believing Voldemort had a Horcrux, or _seven_, then Izar would appease the old man. Only, Izar would make sure that whoever destroyed the Horcrux would also be destroyed in the process. A few main leaders of the Light would be hunting the Horcruxes. Their death would be a relief to the Dark side.

It was an incredibly challenging task, one he found himself _reading _about on Saturday afternoon. He wanted to make his invention somewhat believable to those who hunted them.

In Grimmauld's basement, Izar clutched a dusty tome as he scanned the brief section of what was known about Horcruxes. There wasn't much written about the Dark artifact, but he _did _find detailed instructions of how to create one. The procedure wasn't at all Dark as it was rumored to be. A sacrifice— a killing. Izar did it with ease during every battle. But the more he read on the Horcrux, the more his mind unwillingly centered on his mother.

For someone of the Light, it was, in all ways, a gory and unforgivable act. It was more than just a kill… it was more intimate and explicit. Lily had risked much to create a Horcrux.

He shook his head. Now was not the time to think of his estranged mother. He would _like _to have at least one of Voldemort's fake Horcruxes done by Yuletide. If not more. He believed, if he found out how to create _one_, then the other six would be relatively easy to manipulate.

Izar wished he could come in contact with a real Horcrux so he could examine the aura it gave off and the feelings it inflicted on a human being in close proximity. After which, he could mimic its influence onto his invention.

The Black heir sat against the dusty armchair and mused. Across the room, the portrait of Cygnus Black hung. Izar took great pleasure in silencing the man and hanging him up today. What better way to get revenge on his ancestor by making sure Cygnus saw how his experiment of immortality failed?

Cygnus' dark eyes narrowed on Izar, his mouth moving but no words escaping.

Izar pursed his lips, tsking. "Now, now, Cygnus, you've had your _fair _share of attention."

Tapping his fingertips against his book, his mind brought him back to Lily. This time, he didn't examine the confusion her sacrifice brought him, but what _he _had felt around her Horcrux. He remembered being drawn to her… or it… and being allured. There was a strange lightness around her that Izar had wanted to touch and possess.

It could not be the same for someone like Voldemort. If the Dark Lord created a Horcrux, his would not possess a lightness. But it could hold an allure. And a darkness Lily's hadn't possessed.

Izar leaned forward, frowning. If a Horcrux somehow reflected its owner's state of mind and magic when it was created, would it be possible that if Voldemort created Horcruxes when he was younger, it would give off more of a lightness than his latter Horcruxes? If Tom Riddle created a Horcrux as young as seventeen or eighteen, surely the Horcrux, as a result, would secrete more of an _innocence _than one that would be made in his late thirties?

He gave a light snort. Tom Riddle was probably a bloody bastard at the young age of five, certainly not innocent by any means. Most probably viewed him as a devil's child. In reality, he was just the Heir of Slytherin. Equally as worse.

Nonetheless, Izar could make the Horcruxes vary in the amount of darkness they held.

Which left the question of _what _the form of the Horcruxes should take. Lily manipulated her Horcrux to be a spiritual form, one that attached onto Cygnus behind the Veil. Voldemort's fake Horcruxes needed to be solid, easier for his enemies to destroy.

But _what_?

Izar glanced down at his fingers, staring at the black Celtic band on his hand. A ring was realistic enough, but would the _great _Lord Voldemort have a bloody ring carry a piece of his soul? It was unlikely, but Izar distinctively remembered the black-stone ring on Riddle's fingers. He had never questioned what the ring stood for, but it could be a piece of Voldemort's past, something he held onto with a modest amount of attachment.

The Horcruxes needed to be objects that were a part of Voldemort's history, possessions that defined the Dark Lord. It would be even better if Dumbledore knew of any of those objects.

His conclusion left a blank in his mind. Just _what _should Izar use as the Horcruxes? How would he know what possessions linked the Dark Lord to his past? Izar knew little about Tom Riddle's past. The only few things he didknow about the Dark Lord was that he was raised in an orphanage and that his Muggle father had abandoned his pregnant mother. From the trophies at Hogwarts, Izar knew Tom Riddle was also a model student…

While the knowledge he possessed about Tom Riddle was more than most Death Eaters, it wasn't enough. It left Izar at a crossroad. Did he go behind Voldemort's back and investigate his childhood? Or did he confront the man upfront and inquire? The latter was more favorable, especially because it offered Izar more time to get the Horcruxes finished. But Voldemort guarded his past selfishly. It would be a struggle to twist information out from the man.

A sniffle sounded behind Izar, causing the Black heir to quickly turn. His sharp eyesight permitted him to see a small form huddled at the foot of the stairs.

"What are you crying about?" Izar demanded warily, seeing the tears stain the boy's cheeks.

Truth be told, Aiden had been tossed to the back of his mind this past week. He was sure Kreacher had fed the boy, but otherwise, the Mudblood child had been alone at Grimmauld for the duration of Izar's stay at St. Mungo's.

Aiden wiped his dirty sleeve across his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Izar looked upward, wondering if his patience with the boy had run even thinner since Regulus' condition. "Tears do not make things better," he reprehended, looking back across the basement at Aiden. "If you truly wish to feel better, find a book and _learn _about the world you have found yourself thrust in. Or make yourself useful and _dust." _It probably wasn't the best thing to suggest to the boy. Grimmauld held a few nasty creatures buried in the crooks and shadows.

"I'm not sorry about my tears," Aiden retorted sharply, narrowing his eyes on Izar. "I'm sorry about Regulus."

At least the boy had a bit of fire to him, Izar thought as he narrowed his own gaze. "He will return shortly," he dismissed, turning his back on the boy and picking up his book.

"You're angry with me," Aiden persisted, sounding broken.

Izar placed his book back on his lap, closing his eyes in exasperation. Perhaps his tactic in pushing the boy away wasn't working. Maybe he should soothe the boy's fears and anxieties. It would allow Izar more time to work _alone _with the Horcruxes.

"I am not _angry_ with you," Izar began, leveling his voice neutrally. He turned slightly, motioning the boy forward. "Come here."

Aiden scrambled ungracefully from the stairs and made his way over to Izar. The closer he came, Izar saw the mess the boy was in; dusty and dirty clothes, torn pants, a tear-streaked face, dark circles under his eyes, and far too pale of a face. Izar found his resolve breaking at the pathetic sight before him. The boy _stunk. _

"When was the last time you ate? Or bathed for that matter? Do you need someone to lead you by the hand all the time?" Izar reached forward, grabbing Aiden around the waist and dragging him forward until the boy's legs hit his knees. Reaching up, Izar brushed a greasy strand of dark blond hair away from the boy's swollen and blood-shot eyes.

"Kreacher's food is moldy and stale," Aiden confessed, bowing his head and subconsciously leaning forward, closer to Izar's hold.

"And when was the last time you bathed?" Izar repeated darkly.

Brown eyes quickly looked up at Izar before lowering in shame.

The Black heir sighed, sliding his hand off Aiden's waist and closing his book. "This behavior of yours is unbecoming of a Black. You must always look presentable no matter the consequences." He was such a bloody hypocrite. But he was not raised as the Black heir. Aiden would need to make a presentable Black in order to attract a pure-blood female and carry on the line. Izar did not. He just had to struggle with an overbearing Dark Lord.

Running his eyes across the child's face, Izar shook his head at the utter exhaustion coming off the boy. He hadn't thought Regulus' accident would affect Aiden as much as it did. The boy had only known Regulus for two days, but then again, Aiden had visions of Regulus all through his childhood.

Reluctantly, Izar touched the stained cheek of the boy. "Regulus has been greatly wounded, Aiden. Despite his wounds, he will return home. You have nothing to be upset about." He'd rather not tell the boy about Regulus' inability to walk again. He'd save that for Regulus to take care of when he came home.

"I should have seen him getting hurt _before _it happened," the boy argued pitifully. "Sometimes I don't even see things. And sometimes they come too late and I don't even remember having the visions. I should have known. Someone could have saved him before…"

Izar now understood what ailed the young boy. He had to swallow his dislike for children and Mudbloods as he put himself in Aiden's shoes. The boy was just a child, and yet, he was assaulted with vivid visions of pain and suffering, of blood and death. It would eventually take a toll on the boy's sanity and Izar knew he had to reassure the child now before it could destroy the boy's mind.

Izar curled his fingers around Aiden's chin and made the boy look up at him. "You have a gift, Aiden, which most wizards would envy you for. A gift of foresight. But with this gift comes a curse. You see the future before others. And the future you see may be full of suffering." He paused, wondering if he was speaking in words small enough for Aiden to understand. Seeing the boy's sharp eyes on him, Izar realized Aiden was smart enough to follow.

"Your gift will both aid and restrain you," he said softly, thinking of his own magic-sensitivity. "You must accept that you will not see everything. And you must accept that you cannot _stop _things from happening. Fate… Fate is your enemy; it will _always _be your enemy. It will try very hard to make things that are meant to happen, happen. There are times you may win against Fate and stop events which are about to occur and there are times, like with Regulus, that you are powerless to stop them."

Some of the tension around Aiden's face relaxed at Izar's words and the Black heir was just happy that the boy understood.

"Fate is my enemy," Aiden whispered to himself, peering into Izar's eyes. A small smile crossed his face. "I will try my hardest to win against Fate. Like you do with your enemies."

Izar's mouth twitched before he became impassive once again. "Just remember, if you ever lose against Fate, Regulus and I will never be angry with you. We know how difficult it must be to battle Fate."

Aiden's eyes suddenly became larger and warmer and Izar wondered if he had overly-reassured the boy.

_Yes, _Izar thought as Aiden lunched himself at him and curled his arms around his neck.

Izar hesitantly patted Aiden on the back, relieved that this was taken care of. His next issue to tackle before he could get to the Horcruxes would be Aiden's bath and breakfast. And maybe he should order Kreacher to get pass-worthy food for Grimmauld. Lucius would no doubt agree to that plan of action.

"Come," Izar broke the embrace, his nose assaulted with Aiden's stench for far too long. "A bath. And then breakfast."

He stood up from the chair, making his way over to the staircase. Before he reached the bottom step, a warm hand touched his fingers.

Looking down his nose, Izar watched as Aiden offered him a shy smile before curling his hand completely around Izar's fingers.

_Bloody hell. _

Voldemort would have a field day with this.

_**{Death of Today}**_

Daphne twirled a finger at the end of her short hair, gazing across the Slytherin Common Room at Draco Malfoy. As of late, the boy was constantly in a sour mood. He barked at his cronies and remained stubbornly silent in classes, even remaining impassive when the know-it-all Mudblood Granger raised her hand and earned the Ravenclaw house far more points than Slytherin.

The Greengrass heir withheld an irritated sigh, pushing off from the plush chair and silently making her way over to the irritating blond. _Really_. She missed Izar dearly. While it had only been a couple of weeks since she last saw him at the Ministry ball for the election of the Minister, she found herself needing to be near the boy. Izar always had a calming air about him, an air Daphne felt comfortable with.

But Izar hadn't made good on his promise to keep in contact with her. He had promised, after their dance at the Ministry ball, that he would keep in touch through owls.

She didn't blame him for slipping. A deep sadness spread across her chest as she heard news of Regulus Black's condition. She didn't know much about it, for Izar and Sirius Black were keeping Regulus' state hushed and covered. Hopefully Izar's father would recover. She could only hope.

Coming to a stop behind the gloomily silent Draco Malfoy, she crossed her arms and smirked. "What? No attempt at seduction today?" Sarcasm. She wasn't very good at it, but having Izar around her during his stay at Hogwarts made her privy to _trying _to mimic the Black heir's cynicism.

There was _one _thing Daphne wouldn't allow Izar to get away with. And that was encouraging Malfoy to court her. The pampered blond boy didn't admit to Izar's interference, but Daphne knew Malfoy well enough to know the boy wouldn't suddenly start courting her. No, it had to be Izar's idea.

"Go _away_, Daphne," Malfoy frowned, staring at the flames in the fireplace.

She mirrored his frown. From what she gathered, Draco had received a special 'project' from the Dark Lord. It was the envy among the close-knit Slytherin students. Quite frankly, Daphne hadn't believed it, for she turned up her nose at Draco's arrogance. The Dark Lord was too important, too skilled, to ask for assistance. Especially from _Draco_. But now she wasn't too sure.

"I'm not going to mock you if you need assistance, Draco," Daphne sniffed, reluctantly using the boy's given name. "I can offer you my help."

"You can't help me," Malfoy gave a bitter laugh, his face an unnatural shade of white with a hint of green.

She leaned her hip against the back of his couch, her eyes wandering the length of the empty Common Room before looking back at the Malfoy heir. "If you need help in your little _project_, why don't you ask Izar?"

Draco gave an intake of breath, leaning forward and rubbing his palms across his sweaty face. "I can't. This is my project. Besides, I can't ask him. His father is…"

Daphne became quiet, surveying the ill-looking Draco Malfoy. "I think Izar would welcome a distraction. And who knows? Maybe we would like to hear from you." Draco turned to look at her in disbelief and she shrugged. "You're right, he probably wouldn't be overjoyed at hearing from you. But if you aren't going to ask him, then I will. This is obviously tearing you apart—"

"No," Draco hissed, leaning forward and encircling her wrist with a constraining hand.

Daphne narrowed her eyes on the demanding hand until Draco reluctantly released her.

"I will ask him at Yuletide if I haven't already figured it out. A simple _owl _will not do. I need to see him face to face."

"Good," Daphne smirked, knowing she had won the upper-hand.

Draco sat back against the sofa, grinning at her. "Why so concerned, Daphne? Were you missing my attention this week?"

The petite blond huffed. "That is _highly_ unlikely."

* * *

**{Notes}** Izar's *absence* from the Death Eaters will be relatively short. I have a few things in mind before I want him to fight for the Death Eaters again. And no worries. He won't be missing much action. There are still a lot of battles left before the end.


	51. Part II Chapter 19

_Thanks for reading/reviewing. Warning: Grammar errors. _

**Chapter Nineteen**

As usual, ever since Izar ventured back into the fold of the Unspeakables, the table he sat at was tangible with awkwardness. Rookwood seemed oblivious to the tension, for the Inner-Circle Death Eater kept his head bowed over his notes of possible inventions. Lily followed Rookwood's example and kept her head bowed over her own notes. She only spoke once to Izar when he returned and offered him her condolences for Regulus' condition.

Conner Oran had given one long sneer at Izar before scratching his quill uselessly against his parchment.

All around them, the other groups of Unspeakables were speaking quietly among one another, planning inventions to help the war effort. Izar's group stuck out like a sore thumb, their silence deafening in the Department. Izar felt no need to break the silence. His own thoughts were revolving around the Horcruxes he was constructing and Regulus' condition. His father had yet to wake. But a short owl from Severus Snape reassured Izar that Regulus' mind was almost fully healed.

"I thought you were supposed to be _brilliant_," Conner suddenly muttered into his parchment. "Everyone always says you're a prodigy."

Izar tugged on his gold and black Unspeakable robes, offering Conner Oran a look of disdain. "Exactly what are you implying?"

Lily sent Oran a side-long glance before turning to Izar. He ignored her inquiry and chose to turn all his attention on the man across from him.

Oran set down his feathered quill and furrowed his brows. "I'm implying that they think far too highly of you. I haven't seen anything remarkable from you besides your ability to glower at the wall across from you."

Lily made an attempt to speak, but Izar held up a lazy hand, cutting her off. He sent Oran a thin smile. "I apologize," Izar whispered as he leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table in order to breathe across Oran's face. "Maybe I should refocus and draw mindless doodles on my own parchment." He gave a pointed look at Oran's parchment, full of pitiful doodles.

The young man flushed and sat up straighter. "They _aren't _doodles," Oran hissed. "They're sketches of possible inventions that would help in the war."

"How silly of me to think otherwise," Izar drawled.

The flush across Oran's face became crimson red. Before he could make an even larger fool of himself, Lily stepped in calmly. "Izar has only been here for a day, whereas we have had a week to consider." She lightly touched Oran's arm to calm him, but much to Izar's amusement, it only seemed to enrage the boy further. "I admit that I am not too knowledgeable in the field of coming up with inventions," she confessed softly, her lashes nearly brushing her cheeks as she looked down.

Izar watched her, intrigued and wary of her. There had been many times Izar could sit and think about her willing sacrifice, but he had always avoided thinking on it too deeply. He believed he would never be able to come to terms with it. But he still found himself curious about her mental health. There were times when she looked as hard as stone and other times when there was a warm glow in her eyes. Was she unstable? Or was she desperately trying to search for the emotions that left her more than fifteen years ago? He knew there had to be some emotion left in her. But most of them had likely been muted.

Vivid emerald eyes suddenly looked up at him, the hollowness inside them visible to Izar and the darkness dimming the green irises considerably. She kept his gaze and he found himself unwilling to look away.

"My place is in the Death Chamber," she explained, tearing her gaze from Izar and avoiding Rookwood completely. She knew he was a Death Eater and wanted nothing to do with the older man. "I think we're all a bit wary of one another to put our ideas on display for criticism."

She was right of course. Both of them, save for Rookwood and Izar, were wary of suggesting any ideas in fear of rejection. Rookwood and Izar just kept silent and clueless simply because they didn't want to create anything that would make the Light side hold advantage over the Dark. Izar knew he would eventually need to come up with something to keep up appearances, but he would make sure he knew how to counter whatever he created.

Lily's bony wrist bent as she pushed a lock of crimson hair away from her face. "I can speak to Owen Welder or Rufus Scrimgeour. Perhaps we can request a change in group?"

"No," Oran blurted.

All eyes turned in his direction and Izar found himself almost bored with the proceedings. He already knew why the young man across from him didn't want a change in group. Oran's jealousy and infatuation with Izar would fuel his need to stay in the group. Izar reminded himself that he needed to comment on how lovely the boy looked in his Hufflepuff colors.

Oran straightened from his hunched position when he realized his slip and offered a shy glance at Rookwood's dark grimace. "I mean…" Oran trailed off as something behind Izar snagged his attention.

The man's clean cologne teased Izar's nose before he turned to see Rufus Scrimgeour standing proudly behind their table. The Minister's slicked back hair was less greasy today despite the ruffled robes he wore.

The yellow eyes of the Minister studied the ink-stained parchment and broken quills between the silent and restless group. "Getting much progress done?" Over his shoulder, a member of the Unspeakable Board stood with their crimson robes contrasting sharply against the dim atmosphere of the Department of Mysteries. "Or have you hit a snag?"

No one was inclined to answer. Even Lily remained silent, her eyes lowering to her neatly written notes. Izar turned his shoulder back on the Minister, monitoring the man by listening to the rustle of his robes and the squeak of his leather boots.

Rufus grunted at the solemn expressions of the group. Suddenly, a strong and heavy hand landed on Izar's shoulder. The younger tensed at the sudden contact, but otherwise remained impassive. His prey appeared rather hesitant today. Izar wondered if the man were going to bring up his suspicions of Izar's involvement with the Death Eaters. The last time he had seen Rufus, there had been shadows of uncertainty and mistrust in the man's gaze.

Surely the Minister would act on his suspicions. It wasn't like the man to allow a threat such as Izar to remain with the Unspeakables even if there wasn't much evidence to try Izar. The man would take Izar by the collar and throw him out on his arse or, perhaps, target Izar as a public enemy.

Briefly, Izar wondered what it would be like to live as a fugitive. Bellatrix didn't seem to have a problem with living under constant threat. Izar was raised to possess nothing but a few articles of clothing and a hard cot and pillow. Living on the run didn't seem as remotely horrible as it would to someone of pure-blood status. They would be unable to live in luxury and withdraw money from their vaults.

Quite frankly, Izar viewed the possibility of being a wanted criminal… appealing. Sadly, Voldemort wouldn't think of the situation as highly as Izar. The Dark Lord wanted as many members of his army as he could to remain in the Ministry and unidentified.

"Mind having a word with me, Mr. Black?"

Izar caught Lily's eye before nodding. "Of course, Minister."

He stood gracefully from the silent table and followed Rufus out of the room, oblivious to Rookwood's suspicious eyes following at his heels.

The two lapsed into a tense silence. Izar smiled thinly, clasping his hands behind his back as they slowly walked down the dark corridor of the Department of Mysteries. The cold temperature of the corridor licked at Izar's skin. The creature side of him wished to lay beneath the sun's warm rays and bask in the comfortable heat of early December.

"Owen Welder and I were a bit surprised at your absence this past week, Mr. Black," Rufus finally began, throwing Izar a side-long glimpse. "When you informed us of what transpired, I can only express my deepest sympathies for you and your father. I hope he can recover nicely."

Izar only gave a tense nod in return, not wishing to expand on Regulus' condition. Last week, he had just sent a quick owl to Owen, informing him that Regulus had been attacked and was in critical condition. Nothing mentioning of a Death Eater raid or the extent of Regulus' wounds.

"Forgive me, Minister," Izar began softly. "But you appear… as if you have something on your mind."

And the man did. Usually Rufus was quick to jump to conclusions, quick to prosecute, and quick to spit things out. At the moment, the man looked almost _hesitant _and that wasn't Rufus' character. Izar's own suspicions heightened and he waited, coiled, for the man's words.

Rufus stopped his leisure walk and turned to face Izar slowly. With a hand rubbing his chin, Rufus studied Izar closely. His eyebrows were furrowed, as if he were about to do something he had regrets about. "You're a good wizard, Izar."

Warning bells went off in Izar's head but he remained stoic as he gazed unblinkingly at the lion-like wizard across from him. They were alone in the corridor, save for an Unspeakable Board member a good distance away.

"You're a very talented and powerful young man," Rufus continued, oblivious to Izar's amused disbelief. "I want you to know how much the Light side values your cooperation. I believe… with your assistance, we can easily overpower the darkness that has shadowed our country."

The man was hand feeding him compliments, inflating his ego, and making him even more suspicious. This wasn't like Rufus. Izar was positive Scrimgeour had distrust in his eyes the last time they had met after the Death Eater raid. In fact, if Izar looked close enough, there were deeper shadows of reluctance and caution in the man's eyes now.

Izar leaned back on his heels, remaining silent and intentionally making Rufus uncomfortable.

If Rufus Scrimgeour knew Izar was the Death Eater he battled on the roof during the raid, then why was he feeding Izar compliments? Instead of the man running into a situation with a hot head, Rufus almost seemed uncomfortably manipulative.

The question Izar wanted to know was… who spoke with Rufus Scrimgeour?

The answer came quite easily.

Tom Riddle.

It had to be the Dark Lord. Who else could successfully convince a hard-arsed ex-Auror to switch tactics? Izar knew Rufus Scrimgeour like the back of his hand. Manipulation wasn't the Minister's strong point. He was too stubborn and tempered to lay a plan behind patience.

So, why would Voldemort convince the Minister to swallow his initial reaction and try to sway Izar? There were many possible answers to that. They all irritated Izar and amused him. One reason why Voldemort would set this up was to test Izar's loyalty. That scenario, above all else, stung him. Did Voldemort think him so easily swayed? So disloyal? It was true that Izar found the Light side more grateful of him and his gifts. But all the flattery and fame didn't appeal to Izar. He enjoyed the Dark and the privacy it offered.

Other than testing his loyalty, Izar reluctantly accepted that Voldemort could have been saving his hide. Without Voldemort's intervention, Rufus would have Izar tossed out of the Unspeakables, and, perhaps out of the Ministry. Now, it seemed as if Rufus was aiming for keeping Izar close. And in turn, it was keeping Izar in the midst of the war.

Either way, no matter what Voldemort intended with this course of action, Izar was going to play along. This was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. He could get closer to Rufus and he could play on Voldemort's fears—if the man really was worried that Izar would switch sides.

Izar placed his hands together, tapping his fingertips in attempt to appear uncomfortable. Gazing into Rufus' eyes, he wondered if he could play the Minister. "I…" he trailed off, offering a sly smile. "I'm not all that great, Minister."

Rufus' eyes widened a fraction. "Nonsense," he roared, tossing Izar a toothy grin. "You're the greatest mind seen for decades. And you're still only sixteen." Rufus shrugged, as if agitated. "It must be hard continuing with your father in the state that he's in. And for that, I feel guilty asking something of you."

Izar allowed a thin smile, shaking his head. "I need something to take my mind off things, Minister. What did you have in mind?" He watched closely as Rufus glanced at the crimson-robed wizard hovering in the shadows further behind them. Something was brewing in Rufus' mind. Izar couldn't wait to get his hands on it.

Rufus grunted, grabbing Izar around the shoulders and guiding him further down the corridor in a slow pace. "An Unspeakable came to me with a design late last week," the man began softly.

"An invention?" Izar probed gently.

The Minister nodded sharply. "It's an invention I'm wary about initiating. I debated long and hard this weekend about OK'ing the process of creating it. It's an invention that straddles the boundaries of morals and ethics. But this army of Death Eaters is getting to be a large threat. I want to eliminate them before they grow larger in numbers. The public will allow their fear to run their actions. It will not be long until they join the Death Eaters in hopes of being on the winning side."

Izar nodded, emotionless. "What invention did this Unspeakable come up with?" he asked, intrigued and cautious.

The tawny mane shook. "I need your word that you will keep this disclosed between me and the group you will work with. This needs to be confidential. Extremely, confidential."

Izar's eyes narrowed. If this project was so confidential, then why did Rufus trust him enough to tell him?

His question was answered as the crimson-robed advisor came to a stop beside Rufus as the man motioned him forward. The advisor snapped open a roll of parchment, the cream-colored paper glowing a vibrant gold, evidence that it was a magical contract. Izar's eyes came to the blank line, enough room for his signature if he so desired it.

"Your signature will bind your silence to this project. You will not be able to write about this project, speak about it, channel it mentally, nothing. You may speak about it between your colleagues, the trusted few I have hand-selected for this project. If there are others in hearing range while you're discussing it, they will simply hear gibberish. I must stress that this is an extremely private project. One that I want your concentrated effort on. It needs to be completed as soon as possible. After which, I hope to destroy any evidence of it."

Izar stood in surprised silence, his mind racing. "You do realize, Minister, that some inventions sound awe-inspiring on paper, but are, in reality, impossible to create? Correct?"

Rufus bowed his chin slightly, acknowledging Izar's words. "I thought you could do _anything_, Mr. Black."

The younger gave a light chuckle, shaking his head slowly. "I am not God, Minister. I cannot invent something that stretches the laws of magic to the extreme. What you make it sound like, leads me to believe that this invention is dangerous and impossible."

Yellow eyes watched him carefully. "The Unspeakable who came to me about the invention believes it can be done. Though, he has expressed that he needs aid. He even asked after your involvement, Mr. Black. And I full-heartedly agreed. You will make a very valuable addition to the team I have set up. You will start next week on it. I want it _done _quickly. Quietly." Rufus flashed a smug smile, almost obsessing over Izar's closed expression. "That is, unless you feel you are unable to create such an invention that will destroy the Dark side."

The man was taunting him. _Him. _Izar's eyes flashed, but otherwise remained unruffled. If he didn't take this task, Rufus' suspicions would only be confirmed. However, if Izar _did _take this task, he would be forced to make something that could, in all ways, destroy the Dark side and he would be helpless to warn the Death Eaters. But then again, if he took the offer, he would at least know what the invention was and how to stop it…

"Where is the quill?" Izar questioned, his eyes on the contract. It was short, and his sharp eyes only caught what the Minister promised. Silence. There was nothing underhanded about the contract, which Izar was thankful for.

Rufus nodded to the Unspeakable Advisor who handed Izar a gold-feathered quill. The Ravenclaw leaned forward and signed his name fluidly on the line. Standing tall, Izar pressed the quill into the advisor's palm and turned expectantly to Scrimgeour after his signature absorbed into the parchment.

The Minister thanked the crimson-robed advisor and walked with Izar once again. "You'll find out more about the invention tomorrow when you meet your group. But I will give you a short briefing of the intended outcome."

The man was intentionally extending the explanation. Izar forced down his impatience, finding comfort in the dark corridors of the Department.

"The invention will strip a wide-range area completely of magic."

Izar stopped in his advance, turning to stare at Rufus. "You cannot be serious." He remembered his own magic-sensitivity, the gift Cygnus had unveiled during his possession. Izar had the ability to cut off magical cores. And he hated that gift, simply because it was _cowardly_.

"I am," Rufus conceded. "We hope to obtain the results of a cage-like force field. The generators will activate and strip magic from inside its perimeter."

"Basically," Izar drawled. "You want to cage in the Dark army and strip their magic." He blinked at Rufus. "Why not just kill them? Taking away their magic will likely kill most of them. Wizards breathe with magic, their pulses race in sync with their cores. Ripping magic from them will only suffocate them and leave them all but empty shells of their former selves. It's torture, Minister. Killing them will be the better option."

Rufus stroked his jaw, his eyes almost troubled, yet there was a hard edge to them. "That is not necessarily true, Izar. Killing them would be unethical—"

"Destroying their cores would be even more unethical. You kill them anyway in battle."

Scrimgeour grinned. "Killing in battle is always our last resort. By stripping them of their magic, we will be giving them the choice of living. Surely most of them would take life without magic over death?"

"Don't be too sure of that, Minister." Izar glanced away from the Minister, finding it difficult to cage his temper.

The Minister preached to Izar at the Ministry ball not too long ago about Unspeakables holding too much power. He was afraid they would create something that would destroy the Wizarding world from the inside out. _This _invention was a step in that direction. Scrimgeour believed he could destroy the invention after they blasted the Dark wizard's cores? It wouldn't be that easy. The public would hear about the invention unless Rufus did his damned best to cover it up.

Even Izar would be against this invention if Voldemort asked him to create it to use against the Light side. Wizards and witches were meant to be gifted with magic. They were meant to defend themselves with it. By ripping and shriveling their cores, it would turn the forces of nature upside down.

And shriveling the cores is exactly what would happen. Despite himself, Izar's Ravenclaw mind raced with possibilities of how he would construct it. He would need to create enough power, enough radiation in the invention in order to react with the magical core and shrivel it into nothingness. Healers practiced radiation on cancer patients that sometimes destroyed bits of the magical core. But that was just a small amount of radiation and the magical core could often mend itself. If Izar could create enough radiation, he could destroy the magical cores completely.

Though, too much radiation would give the victims radiation poisoning.

Izar felt ill at just the thought of it. How would he get himself out of this one? Could he somehow warn Voldemort? Could he somehow invent this contraption incorrectly?

Yes. Incorrectly installing it would work. But he also needed to keep in account the other Unspeakables he would work with. It would be a difficult task, but Izar would rather be assigned this task than being oblivious about it.

He would make it work. Somehow.

Izar gave a tense nod to the waiting Minister. "If this is what you wish, Minister, it shall be done."

Rufus bowed stiffly at the waist. "Thank you, Mr. Black. I will be awaiting your success."

The Black heir watched the Minister make his way out of the Department of Mysteries, his short cloak snapping around his knees. Izar withheld a sigh, wondering what the hell he got himself into this time around. The Minister played it well. He knew Izar's loyalty. And he was challenging it. Doubtlessly, there would be eyes watching Izar and reporting back to the Minister. Rufus wanted Izar to feel welcomed with the Light side. He wanted Izar to feel _important_.

The man didn't know Izar well enough to realize that Izar thrived on mind games. The Black heir grew aroused at the prospect of playing… and Rufus just initiated more of a spark in Izar to resist and push back.

Izar turned his heel and slowly made his way back to the Unspeakable work station. He wondered who came up with the invention. Whoever came up with this idea would need to be skinned alive. It was not a genius invention, it was a sick and cowardly idea that was proof to the inventor's fear. It was pathetic. And Izar _would _take great pleasure in hunting the man down.

"Izar," a voice spoke softly within the shadows.

Izar paused, his shoulders tensing when he recognized the one who spoke. "Lily," he greeted back tensely.

She was leaning heavily against the dark wall, her face drawn and pale. Crimson hair hung around her thin face in a heavy curtain. Her green eyes were similar to his own eyes when his glamours were down. Only, hers was darker, less predatory and far more haunted.

A small smile twitched her lips at his greeting, but it deepened into a frown a moment later. "I want to ask if you could come for dinner tonight."

Izar flinched back. "I don't think so."

He made a move to leave, but a cold and small hand curled around his wrist. "Please," she murmured. "It's strictly professional. James and Sirius will be there for dinner, but I wanted to speak to you privately about this invention. My home will be the safest to discuss it."

She knew. She knew about the invention and seemed rather frightened about it. "Do you know who came up with the idea?"

Her fingers loosened around his wrist before letting go entirely. "No," she denied, her expression suddenly turning cold and inexpressive. "The group hasn't met yet. I suppose Rufus was waiting for your approval first. Tomorrow is our first meeting. I wanted to speak to you first about it." Lily paused, searching his face. "If you would allow me to, that is?"

Izar breathed deeply through his nostrils, turning away from her in order to look further down the corridor. It wasn't the place to further question her on the invention. Both of them knew as much. "No underhanded tactics? Strictly professional?"

He was foolish to think relief would have washed across her features at his agreement. Instead, a cool acceptance took its place. She was too far gone for showing relief.

"Nothing of the sort," she agreed. "What would you prefer for dinner?"

His eyes widened a fraction at the casual question. Was it so unbelievable to find himself in this situation? After so many years of avoidance and dislike, he was now standing in front of her, being asked what he wanted for dinner.

"Pasta," he murmured before turning his heel and leaving her behind.

Merlin. What had he gotten himself into?

**{Death of Today}**

"Our Lord will be _most _pleased to hear about your whereabouts tonight," the Death Eater sneered at Izar from behind his mask.

Izar flashed an irritated look at the Death Eater who hovered around the tree across the street. It was constant. This surveillance. Voldemort had men watching every step he took. There was at least two Death Eaters outside Grimmauld every day, rotating shifts every few hours. There were some in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, St. Mungo's, and… here, of all places. Across from the Potter residence. Briefly, Izar wondered if Voldemort had placed a tracking charm on him. He wouldn't put it past the man to do so.

He did, however, wonder _why _the man was doing this. Just with the manipulation of Rufus, there were countless of possible answers to Voldemort's motives. The Death Eaters weren't being shy about their surveillance, so Izar figured Voldemort hadn't stressed stealth. The man couldn't be watching for his disloyalty. It was too obvious. Voldemort must believe that Izar needed protection. From the French?

The Death Eaters surrounding him could either be for protection or… just to keep tabs on Izar.

It was pitiful to admit, but Izar found himself missing the bastard's company. His creature seemed rather put out and on edge without Voldemort's proximity. It wasn't a strong urge, but Izar was conscious of it. He knew the Dark Lord was feeling the same as Izar, if not amplified.

Because Izar felt a slight tug toward the Dark Lord only made him even more determined to stay away from Voldemort until Yuletide—the date they agreed on. Izar would _not _break first and seek the man's infuriating presence out. And he knew Voldemort would feel the same determination.

But _this… _this was cheating. Sending his men after Izar.

Usually, when Izar was aware of the shadowing, he ignored it entirely. Tonight, though, he wasn't feeling so patient.

He took a step away from the Potter household and toward the Death Eater. The wards hummed around him, reminding Izar that the Potter's were probably aware of his presence. He had to make this quick.

"I couldn't give a rat's arse how the Dark Lord will react to my whereabouts," Izar called out softly, pinning the Death Eater with a light smirk. The servant was of Second Tier. And the Death Eater thought himself ingenious by hiding in the darkness, but Izar could see him quite clearly. "You can tell our Lord that I miss him just as much as he misses me. But I believe his obsession is far from healthy."

The Death Eater blanched, horrified. "Your tongue deserves to be cut from your mouth, you little brat."

Izar cocked his head to the side in agreement, but otherwise remained silent as he turned back to the Potter household.

Dismissing the fuming Death Eater behind him, Izar knocked sharply on the door, dreading this confrontation. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could speak with Sirius alone. It had been awhile since their last conversation, since Izar's last attempt at converting his uncle. He needed to gauge where Sirius' loyalties stood now that he was on friendly terms with James Potter again.

The door opened quickly, revealing a grinning Sirius Black. His uncle gazed down at Izar through eager eyes, completely oblivious to the Death Eater across the street.

"Sirius," Izar greeted softly. He sniffed, looking away from Sirius' irritating grin to straighten his button-down shirt. He hadn't worn robes. He didn't see any reason why he should impress the Potters when they would likely be in wooly sweaters and jeans.

Suddenly, strong arms grabbed Izar and engulfed him in a strong embrace. The younger wizard blinked at the force of the hug, not accustomed to such intimacy. But with Sirius, he should be used to anything.

"It's good to see you, kid," Sirius grunted, nearly breaking Izar's rib in half. After setting down an exasperated Izar, Sirius continued to ruffle his neatly arranged waves.

Izar glowered, batting away Sirius' hands. "It's good to see you as well, Sirius." Though, his tone suggested he wished he were somewhere else.

Sirius grinned widely, stepping aside and allowing Izar entrance. The wards moaned at the action, detecting the Dark magic that cloaked Izar's person. To an experienced Light wizard, and to the wards that detected and warded against Dark magic, a wizard who practiced the Dark Arts was, in all ways, similar to a cigarette smoker. Even if the individual had not smoked a cigarette for a few hours, they would still smell of cigarette smoke to those surrounding him or her.

A greasy film often surrounded a Dark wizard. To Light wizards, it was often unpleasant and struck instant caution and suspicion. But those who could detect the film were only the experienced few.

The Potter wards, on the other hand, could easily detect Izar's involvement with the Dark. Sirius' smile dimmed just briefly at the ward's groan before he perked up under Izar's careful inspection.

No one was fooling anyone tonight. Everyone present knew Izar was of the Dark. It would be foolish to think otherwise. It was the Potter's who were risking their safety by opening their home to Izar. Then again, the Potter's residence wasn't exactly private knowledge. It was just a small cottage a few miles north of Diagon Alley. And James Potter, being a notorious Auror, most likely had an easy escape route if their home was ever under attack.

And speaking of the man…

"Mr. Black," James Potter announced his presence in the foyer. The man was dressed more formally than Izar would have though, with a pressed shirt and slacks. His hair, though, was a hideous bird's nest and his glasses were a bit askew. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you properly."

Properly. It was true that Izar had never met James Potter formally. They met briefly in the tent of the Triwizard Tournament during the Second Task, but other than that, they had never found themselves face to face.

Izar took a closer look at the man, diving past the glasses, the messy hair, and the idiotic half-smile. The first thing the Black heir noticed was the cautiousness. James Potter held himself ready to defend himself and those around him. His body position screamed evidence of a skilled and noteworthy fighter. There were hard lines around his eyes, lines that were not induced by good-humor, but of stress and emotional drain.

There was also distrust in those hazel eyes. Izar was pleased to see it there as James gazed at him. At least someone had the audacity to realize they were on two different sides of the battlefield.

"Please call me Izar, Mr. Potter," the Black heir murmured, taking the man's hand and giving it a firm shake. The man at least earned Izar's respect by being realistic and not blinded by false optimisms like Sirius and Lily.

James inclined his head. "Then you may call me James."

Sirius came forth, clapping both men on the shoulder. "Better than I thought it would go," Izar's uncle breathed, obvious relief across his face.

Izar and James both turned away from one another to give Sirius their attention, both their expressions varying. James with a slight smile and Izar with a pronounced frown and a raised eyebrow. His uncle had the wrong impression if he thought Potter and he were getting _along_. Languages, or in this case, warnings, were deeper than words. In the span of one minute and a few polite pleasantries, James had warned Izar that he was being watched in his home.

"I'm glad you came, I didn't think you'd show."

Izar turned away from Sirius and glanced at the small figure next to the kitchen. She had her hair tied back, bringing attention to the sharp cheekbones he had inherited from her and Regulus. "I told you I would be here. I don't go back on my promises."

Lily offered a light smile before turning her heel. "Dinner is ready. I'm sure you'd like to leave as soon as possible. We can discuss Rufus' invention after we've eaten."

The dinner involved pasta like Izar had requested at the Department of Mysteries. The food was decent, but ever since Izar became immortal, food didn't appeal to him as much as it used to. It tasted a bit bland to him. Blood had taken the place of food. And while Izar didn't partake in blood very often, whenever he did, it always settled his nerves and quenched the slight craving inside him.

While the food was decent, the conversation during dinner wasn't anything short of uncomfortable. Sirius was in one of his _moods_. The type of mood that lifted the man's spirits and rendered him similar to that of a misbehaving child. His uncle was likely and most certainly bipolar. There were times Sirius was as high as a Muggle kite and other times he allowed the darkness inside him to get the better of him. During those times, he became somber and serious—so unlike his other persona.

Even James and Lily seemed uncertain about Sirius' lack of boundaries and carefree attitude. Lily remained silent, her attention on her barely eaten plate of food and her husband. James, on the other hand, seemed interested in Sirius' antics but remained quiet nonetheless.

"I apologize for Sirius, though, I'm sure you're used to him acting this way," Lily confessed after dinner. Sirius and James had left kitchen, leaving Izar and Lily alone to speak. "He was just so worried about tonight. He wanted things to go smoothly."

Izar was sitting in the corner of the kitchen, nursing a hot cup of tea but refusing to drink it. His mother was sitting two stools next to him, keeping a respectable distance. "His expectations are too high and unrealistic," Izar murmured darkly. "It would be best if he becomes grounded again."

Lily's lips twitched briefly before she cleared her expression once again. "James will set Sirius straight. In the meantime, I believe we need to talk about Rufus' invention."

"So you say," Izar retorted. "You seem rather passionate about this invention." He didn't know what think about Lily's enthusiasm when it came to Rufus' idea to take down the Dark side. Was she eager? Frightened? Angry? At the Department of Mysteries, she appeared frightened almost. But in this light, Lily appeared nothing short of impassive.

"I'm against this," she admitted softly.

"Against it?" Izar pushed, smiling bitterly. "But it will destroy the Dark side successfully, no? Why should you be against something that will lean toward your favor?"

Her fingers tightened around her own tea cup, her green eyes assessing Izar. "Because I don't agree with stripping someone's magic. Rufus Scrimgeour believes he can just erase this invention once we use it on the Death Eaters. But it will never be that easy. When word gets out that we defeated the Dark with such an invention, it will spark interest and curiosity in power-hungry wizards. They will make their own inventions and destroy their enemies. It will be a vicious circle. Soon, our kind will be but fairytales Muggle child hear before bedtime."

She made a valid point. Rufus was a fool to believe he could keep this under wraps. He was a fool in general and Izar found his respect for the man lessen considerably. Was the Minister that desperate to defeat the Death Eaters that he needed to put the Wizarding world at risk?

"Alright," he nodded sharply, stirring the amber liquid inside his cup. His lips pursed at his reflection in the tea. "You sound sincere enough. Anyone who has the mind to actually support this invention needs to be eliminated." He glanced up at her, reluctantly finding someone he could relate to and aid him. "What do you suggest?"

Lily hesitated, looking above Izar's head. "I know that you don't trust me, Izar. But I find myself frightened about the consequences of this invention. The future will be grim if this comes to pass. We need to stop the production or somehow destroy it before it has a chance to function."

"I understand that," he agreed, a bit shortly. Real fear was in her eyes as she glanced from the wall back to Izar's face. "But we can't just sit here and express the unfairness of it. A solution will not be found tonight. We need to learn the facts of who is in charge and what they have in mind. After which, we can formulate a plan."

He stood up, glancing around the kitchen. The Potter household was small, cozy. But not something Izar would expect a pure-blood Potter to live in. Their location most likely had to do with Lily's wish to remain as simple as possible. Other Potter manors probably sat around the country, dusty with their lack of use just like the Black manors.

His tall height dwarfed her sitting form. For a long moment, he held her gaze, finding nothing in them but a determination to eliminate Rufus' invention. Briefly, he wondered if there was any emotion inside the woman save for whatever she was facing the moment. The normal human being had a torment of emotions. They were faced with multiple of issues every day and could never find peace within themselves.

Was Lily just an empty void, faced with nothingness until a serious concern stood in her way? Did she only focus on one thing at a time?

It was difficult to pinpoint, but something Izar found intriguing.

Reluctantly, he held out his hand. Green eyes widened a fraction as they looked at his offered hand. "Are you willing to work with me on this?" he questioned her earnestly.

Lily nodded before taking his hand, her skin cold even to his own hand. Suddenly, Izar curled his fingers completely around her small appendage and pulled her forward. Her sudden gasp tickled the small hairs on his face, evidence that they were mere inches from one another.

He made sure he held her gaze as he stared back at her coldly. "This does not mean we are suddenly going to find condolence in each other. And it does not mean we are on the same side of the war. If you make the mistake of betraying me with this invention or deceiving me, I will have no qualms of killing you and your husband. Our sole purpose is to reverse the effects of Rufus' _ingenious _plan. Nothing else. Are we clear?"

Being this close to her, Izar made the inconsequential observation that her dark lashes were, in fact, a dark auburn. She blinked, staring at him with little emotion. Unlike her husband, who now stood on guard in the doorway, she was the picture of serenity.

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes tracing his face almost obsessively. "I understand just perfectly."

Izar released her hand as if it burned and turned his shoulder. "Then we will meet later this week to discuss this in more detail." He brushed past a stiff James Potter before pausing. Turning back to the figure on the stool, he gave a short bow. "Thank you for the dinner."

Without waiting for a response, Izar turned for the door, but not before spotting Sirius leaning against the wall. His expression was shadowed, his earlier high finally bringing him back to reality. Izar gave him a nonchalant look before opening the front door and leaving the trio behind. Tonight was not the night to press his uncle about his allegiances.

He did not want to get close to any of them or spend any more time with them than necessary. The only reason he accepted Lily's help was because he could not do this by himself. It was such a large invention with such large consequences if it was put to use.

A part of him wished he could find a way around the bound silence and speak to Voldemort about it. And yet, another part of him wanted to find a way to terminate this invention without the Dark Lord's help.

**{Death of Today}**

"Is it true? Last night, Mr. Black went to the Potter household?" Lucius asked Undersecretary Riddle in his office at the Ministry.

Undersecretary Riddle glanced up at Lucius with an air of monotony. "It was reported, Lucius, yes."

Lucius frowned, sitting further against the uncomfortable chair in front of the Undersecretary's large oak desk. "And?" the blond pressed, hoping to gauge out a reaction from the Dark Lord about his favored Death Eater's actions. "What do you think about that?"

Riddle removed his faux glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "When you unleash a wild dog, Lucius, it will always run. It will sniff out a new territory, curious about the new surroundings before eventually returning to its Master. Mr. Black will be no different. Only, when the dog returns to its Master, its tail hangs low between its legs. You can be sure Izar will have his chin lifted when he returns into our fold."

It was a reasonable enough analogy. And Lucius was most interested to hear that the Dark Lord was allowing Izar to run free. At first, Lucius believed the Dark Lord was giving Izar time to recuperate from his father's accident. In reality, the man was just testing out his favorite Death Eater, measuring the extent of the boy's loyalty. Nonetheless, Lucius was… almost flabbergasted that the Dark Lord was confident enough to unleash the boy's chain.

"You don't believe Izar will find comfort with his mother? Now that his father is deposed of, will he find security with the Light?" Lucius expressed his concerns. He did not want the Black prodigy to side with the Light.

"I once believed that it was possible," Riddle confessed, tilting his head in a way that proved he was thinking about the question. "But I doubt he will find the Light side to his liking. The Black heredities are bred deep within him despite his Mudblood mother's influence. The Light side can't possibly sate his darker cravings." The man shared a dark smile with Lucius. "However, Mr. Black has always been curious about objects or people he is interested in. He is drawn to his mother for reasons I am not aware of. Once he fleshes out her character and his uncle's allegiances, Mr. Black will be grounded once again."

Lucius pursed his lips, relieved, but not outwardly showing it. "That is good to hear," he drawled, caressing his platinum cane. He paid special attention to the green gems on the serpent's eyes. "The war is beginning to grow more complicated. His participation would be most welcome."

"Indeed," was all the Undersecretary said in return.

Lucius cleared his throat, standing. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Riddle—"

"Sit back down, Lucius; I'm not through with you yet."

Lucius sat down quickly, ignoring the slight pain racing through his lower spine at the abrupt action. The man's tone suggested there was something unpleasant to discuss.

Riddle caressed the parchment in front of him, seemingly ignoring Lucius' presence. "Your wife is beautiful, Lucius."

Lucius stiffened a fraction, his suspicion rising. "Yes, sir, very beautiful," he agreed full heartedly with a sliver of dread and trepidation. What was the Dark Lord hinting at, exactly? Did he wish to take his wife to bed? If that were the case, Lucius wouldn't know how to react. Surely it would be an honor, but Narcissa was _his _wife… something Lucius had trouble swallowing if she were to couple with the Dark Lord.

Riddle looked up at him, a stern line to his mouth. "Would you consider her more beautiful than Izar Black? Or do you think he would surpass her?"

The blond remained still, unable to form any coherent words. He must not slip. And yet, he did not know what the Dark Lord wanted from him. "My wife, sir, is far more beautiful." It was a simple lie. And judging from the Dark Lord's stare, he sensed it. Lucius shook his head. "I love my wife, Mr. Riddle. She is the most beautiful creature in my eyes. Even her flaws. Though, if I was not so attached or involved with her, I would say that… Mr. Black is of… he is sculptured beautifully. An exotic specimen among mere humans."

Riddle's expression became darker, resembling his Dark Lord façade far more than his political frontage. "Would you bed him?" the man asked silkily, sending goose bumps down Lucius' back.

"I would never betray my wife—"

"That is not what I asked you," Riddle hissed, leaning forward and placed his hands levelly on the desk. "Consequences of your wife be damned, would you bed him? The truth, Lucius. Do not tire me with petty lies."

"Yes," Lucius admitted through clenched teeth.

Riddle sat back, eyeing Lucius through unreadable eyes. Shadows clung to the man, indication that the danger was not gone. It would never be gone. "He is a boy, Lucius. And you still feel a primal urge with him?"

Lucius found himself chuckling despite the situation. "Izar Black is so much a _boy _as I am. There may be times he slips and his age shows through, but he is an old spirit. If I was not married to an accomplished woman, I would have no qualms with sleeping with him. In fact, I may find it exhilarating to be with a dominant younger than me." And Lucius knew that Izar Black would be the dominant in bed. Though, he pushed the thought away, in fear he would enjoy the taste of something so forbidden.

Riddle appeared far from pleased with Lucius' admission. "I hope you keep that in mind next time your loins get the better of you, Lucius. You have a wife that will hold you accountable should you slip." The Undersecretary leaned forward, offering Lucius a wide smile that would be better suited for a hungry serpent. "If that does not encourage you to stay away from him, just know I will take great enjoyment in cutting off your hands and rendering you an invalid. Death would be far too merciful. Your gold should go first and then your wand. The life of a Muggle would serve just fine as punishment."

Lucius blanched despite himself, finding it difficult to imagine that consequence to befall him. "I understand, Mr. Riddle. He is yours."

"He _is_ mine," Riddle agreed. "Just as you are and anyone who is branded. I would rather not have his mind elsewhere during the war. You will do well not to distract him."

The Dark Lord could always fool him, but with this, Lucius knew all too well that something deeper was going on between the Dark Lord and Izar Black. This conversation was just evidence of such a tantalizing relationship. It was best to remember that the next time Lucius became charmed by Mr. Black's appearance and power. Merlin have mercy on anyone ignorant enough to touch Izar Black. For the Dark Lord would hunt them down and destroy them slowly and gleefully.

Lucius would agree not to touch Izar sexually, but he could not promise to stay away. Izar Black was destined for great things and Lucius would be the first to witness them.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar carefully lifted the lid of the basket, smiling sinisterly as he gazed down at the anesthetized viper. She was over twelve feet long and full of vibrant green scales and a few other exotic colors lingering on her back.

Perfect. Of course, perfection was only expected for _him. _

"_What is your name?" _Izar hissed in Parseltongue, the first time using it since being turned into Voldemort's creature.

The serpent eyed Izar warily, tiredly, her forked-tongue escaping her mouth to taste Izar. It reminded him vividly of Voldemort's own forked-tongue and how the man most likely used it to taste lies.

"_Nagini, my young speaker," _she replied conceitedly. Her scales contrasted as she slowly began to stretch from the basket and out toward Izar. Her tongue continued to taste him and it brushed his arm just briefly before she stretched further and curled around his forearm. _"Where is your mate? You smell heavily of him." _

Izar gave a slight scoff. Amusing how he could smell so heavily of the Dark Lord when they hadn't even…

"_He is preoccupied at the moment," _he responded stiffly as her heavy weight twisted up and around his neck. _"He will be your future Master." _Just as he was Izar's, unfortunately.

She coiled around his shoulders and neck, coming back around to stare at him in the face. _"I assume he will take good care of me? I require proper meals and enough petting to satisfy me." _

"_I'm sure he will do that and more," _Izar began lightly, turning to eye his workbench that included layers of dusty tomes and piles of discarded artifacts that hadn't made it past his inspection. _"He will be taken aback by your beauty, I'm sure." _

"_Of course he will. I would expect no less," _she hissed smugly.

Izar held in the smile that wanted to come forth. She was just as arrogant as her future Master. The two would get along famously. Though, it was a bit of a pity that Nagini would eventually be targeted by the Light side and later killed. Perhaps he could find another serpent? One that would be less of a suited companion for the Dark Lord?

No. Nagini would need to be the serpent.

He was looking forward to presenting her to the Dark Lord at Yuletide.

* * *

_For those of you who are worried about the lack of affection (Slash) between Voldemort and Izar—we will get to that during Yuletide. After which, you'll be seeing a _fair share_ of Voldemort for the rest of the story. I will not, however, ever sacrifice the plot just to write mindless lemon scenes. Until then, I just need a few more things to happen while they are apart. You've gone this far without many Izar/Voldemort scenes; you can go a few more chapters. Hopefully. Like I told a few of my readers, they have overcome a large barrier in their relationship last chapter. It will only improve from this point forward. Of course, it will never be a *smooth* relationship…_


	52. Part II Chapter 20

_Warnings: A small time skip (around two and a half weeks). Grammar errors. And __**a lot**__ of dialogue. _

_And thanks to those of you who took the time to review. _

**Chapter Twenty**

His knees were burning, which contradicted the laws of nature. The floor he was kneeling upon was ice-cold, and yet, a burning hot ache shot up his thighs bringing him little comfort. Though, when kneeling before the Dark Lord, comfort came as the last resort.

Augustus Rookwood kept his neck bowed forward, a kink already throbbing between his shoulder blades. Around him, the Death Eaters filled out of the room. A few of them left with little pride intact—as the Dark Lord cut them down with both his words and his temper. The man was growing increasingly agitated as of late. Nothing pleased the man anymore. What little mercy the man possessed before was now lost to the stone-cold Dark Lord.

Rookwood would be a fool to deny that he was frightened to be in private attendance with his Master. Through his mask, his breath came out in faint, but visible clouds. The clouds came in quick increments, in sync to his racing pulse.

His goal for tonight was to avoid a Cruciatus Curse. Exactly what most of the Inner-Circle members had failed to accomplish.

"You have something to report, Rookwood?"

The Dark Lord phrased it as if Augustus was the one to stay behind on his own accord. That was far from the truth. The Dark Lord had requested his presence and sprang this question out of nowhere. If Rookwood was any less intelligent, he would be at a loss of what to inform his Master. However, he had his suspicions that he knew what the man wanted.

"Yes, Master," Rookwood lowered his torso closer to the ground, propping his body up by a solid palm to the cold cement floor. "I have been aware of private meetings between a number of Unspeakables. There is something brewing within the Department and I am consistently left out of such plans, as are most of the other employees."

"Indeed?"

Rookwood bowed further in on himself, but not before seeing something frighteningly sinister dance beneath the crimson eyes of his Master. "My Lord, I hate to draw conclusions, but Izar Black has been among the selected few who have been meeting in seclusion. I believe he is constructing something that could successfully bring down our army." Rookwood looked up at the Dark Lord. "Has he consulted you on the invention?"

Perhaps that wasn't the best thing to inquire, for the Dark Lord's eyes flashed cruelly. Rookwood bowed his head, hoping to make himself small enough to be overlooked by the Dark Wizard.

"Keep an eye on him," the Dark Lord ordered in a raspy voice. "Is there anything else you wish to add, Rookwood?"

Rookwood closed his eyes briefly. He was rather fond of the little Black but was even fonder of the Dark Side succeeding in this war. "I have nothing more to report, My Lord. Only what the other spies have reported already. He has been meeting with Lily Potter at her home quite a few times during the week. I suspect he is siding with the Light."

The Dark Lord was eerily quiet for a long while. "You seem to have a solid opinion about the boy's wavering allegiance, Rookwood."

Rookwood breathed deeply, his breathing quivering with the stress of being under that gaze, _his _gaze. "I feel as if we are losing him, My Lord. Though, one Death Eater cannot be such a threat. We can destroy him; you can destroy him for betraying you."

A hair-raising chuckle escaped from the Dark Lord. Not a response Rookwood was expecting. "You best not burn your bridges, Rookwood. The boy just may be our saving grace," the Dark Lord admitted softly. "I once believed you were one of my saner and wiser Death Eaters. Don't let your other comrades' suspicions go to your head. While they spit and insult Mr. Black in passing, you can make a stand and offer the boy aid if he ever wishes it."

Furrowing his brows, Rookwood wondered if he was truly hearing the Dark Lord correctly. His Lord… believed Izar Black to still be loyal? Despite the boy's continued privacy and contacts with key figures of the Light?

"I will… see to a change of perception, My Lord," Rookwood agreed, bowing lowly.

He just hoped the Dark Lord was right in his judgment. Though… when was the last time Lord Voldemort was ever wrong?

**{Death of Today}**

Izar knew it was wrong to snoop, but he did it anyway.

His head dipped below the sink of the Potter bathroom and he peered deep within the cabinet. He had sensed a wave of magic coming from below the sink and had stripped away the glamour to reveal multiple of potion vials. If Izar didn't know any better, he would think that Severus Snape himself lived with the Potters. If James Potter wasn't so set against the man, Izar would think the greasy-haired Potions Master lived in their basement with the amount of potion vials under the sink.

Eyeing the closed door to the bathroom, Izar reached forward and withdrew the largest vial of purple concoction. Swirling it around, Izar tested the thickness and the way yellow staining mushroomed at the bottom of the vial.

It was a potion that helped improve depression. Izar stared at it for a long while, carefully setting it back down amongst the collection of mood suppressants. They all were variations of mood stabilizers, ones that helped ease depression and others that gave a bit of a high to the drinker—something that would give a depressed individual happier dispositions. There was also a potion in the back that Izar stared at. Light golden flecks danced around the clear liquid. He knew right away that it was a potion that was believed to ignite the warmer emotion of love.

He breathed heavily, leaning back on his heels. Lily must take all of them daily. And yet, even after taking these, she still struggled with showing emotions.

Numbness cooled his belly as he continued to stare at the vials. His mother was desperate to harbor her emotions again. And in doing so, she was putting herself at risk. Ingesting all these potions could not be good for the stomach lining and the mind. One day, it may render her completely unstable… insane. Or worse, it could kill her.

Bowing his head, Izar struggled to understand the emotions he was feeling. Pity, anger, loss… It would not do to feel these things for his mother. The very woman he swore he would never forgive for what she did to Regulus. But after these few weeks of working with her, Izar found it increasingly difficult to remain impassive, especially after discoveries like this.

A sudden knock at the door brought Izar back to reality. Waving his wand over the cupboard, he placed back the glamour to veil the potion vials that were stocked below. Making sure it was in place, he stood up and slowly opened the door.

He leaned against the doorframe, staring down his nose at Lily Potter. She had her eyebrows raised and she clutched a few parchments in her hand.

"Are you feeling unwell?" she questioned, tilting her head to the side to get a better look at him.

Izar's lips thinned. They had been meeting together almost every day for the past three weeks. His days consisted of going to the Department of Mysteries to work on Rufus'… Doomsday invention. Afterward, he went home to see if Aiden hadn't gotten into anything of importance, and then he visited Lily's home. Late at night, Izar also worked on the Horcruxes. He was getting further along than he thought possible with so much on his mind.

Nagini proved to be a constant distraction as she persistently nagged him about neglecting her. There were times when Izar had to stun her and place her back in her basket.

Once he discovered the exact properties he needed to construct the perfect Horcrux, Nagini would need to go through a series of heavy spell-work. The overwhelming Dark Arts he would place inside her may likely kill her. In the meantime, he practiced on large rats. No matter if they survived or not, Nagini would eagerly await her time and devour them whole.

The nights Izar did not spend working on the Horcruxes, he visited Regulus. The man's condition had come to a stand-still. He had yet to awaken and Snape's visits had become less and less. Izar was suspiciously certain that whatever went on in their Legilimency mind-talks wasn't going well and Regulus refused to awaken. If Regulus woke from his coma damaged, Izar would hunt Snape down and hold him accountable for his father's mental state.

Whatever was going on between the two of them was not his business. But he would make it his business if his father suffered from it.

The long nights, the concern over Regulus, and the constant use of Dark Arts was taking a toll on Izar. He hadn't known an immortal creature like himself could get dark circles beneath his eyes, but he was proved wrong a few days ago. He hadn't slept for days. And while he didn't need sleep to function, he was exhausted and found himself withdrawing in his mind at times.

Like now.

"Just tired," he murmured to reassure her. Pushing off from the doorframe, he walked with his mother to the living room. The coffee table became their desk in the evenings and James Potter was constantly seen hovering around the living room.

Sirius usually stopped over. But the past few days, Izar's uncle was oddly absent.

"Would you like to continue another night?" Lily pressed as she watched Izar sit on the leather couch.

Izar offered her a smirk. "We stole the calculations from the Department tonight. We need them returned tomorrow morning with the wrong alterations. This time, Conner Oran successfully got the amount of radiation correct. We need to divert him away from the right path."

He leaned forward near the coffee table, ignoring the carefully placed mixed nuts and scones on the table. Lily always seemed to encourage Izar to eat, no matter if he claimed he already had dinner or not.

Clasping his hands in front of his mouth, Izar thought back to their recent attempts at preventing the invention from being completed. When Izar found out that Conner Oran had been the wizard to come up with the invention, he had been furious. His determination had only heightened and he brought Lily's own determination along for the ride. _Oran _had come up with the cowardly invention. Why did that not surprise him?

Nonetheless, it had been three weeks since they started on the project. With over twenty Unspeakables working on it, all with different talents, it would have been done a lot sooner if it wasn't for Lily and Izar. The two had worked together to create problems that set the Unspeakable back a few days.

At first, Lily and Izar had sat together and fleshed out the invention, both knowing exactly how to construct it before the others had time to do so. By knowing the exact calculations and charms to use to complete the Doomsday invention, they were better off knowing how to prevent the other Unspeakables from figuring it out.

Regrettably, they hadn't been able to totally prevent the construction. So far, the invention was able to hold in a wide-range of wizards. Nothing could get out from inside the force field. All that was left to finish was the correct calculations of the radiation they needed to use.

Lily had stolen Oran's calculations tonight and brought them back to her home. Looking down on them, Izar breathed wearily. He had already looked over them today at the Department. He knew they were correct. The frequency and amount of photons written were enough to successfully bake the magical core. The generators would need to run for a few minutes to fully damage the magical core without any chance of reconstruction.

Izar knew this invention inside and out. But the other Unspeakables were beginning to understand it just as much. What would he have to do if Conner succeeded in completing this?

Izar would need to unveil his status of a Death Eater. He knew. Lily and he could only do so much without being discovered.

"Should we lessen the frequency?" Lily brought him back to the issue at hand. "He would never know. Conner doesn't strike me as the type of man who can remember his own calculations. He's tried so many equations the past few days that he won't be suspicious of a few numbers being altered. He would consider it another trial and error."

"It's the only thing we can do."

They bent over the table, carefully altering the calculations. Nearby, James Potter was standing close to the window, staring out into the darkness. The man was quiet tonight, his shoulders thrown back and his hands near his wand. Was it possible the man sensed the Death Eater watching from across the street?

Unexpectedly, the wards gave a sharp cry and the lights flickered out. Lily straightened suddenly from her bowed position over Oran's notes and grabbed her wand. Her husband was just as quick. His Auror stance made it easy to both attack and defend Lily.

Izar remained sitting calmly, but his chest contrasted sharply. It was more than just a meager Death Eater that triggered the wards. Izar's magic-sensitivity sparked to life as it greedily reached toward the Dark Lord hovering near the edge of the wards. His creature became just as alert, knowing its other half was finally nearby. Izar sulked in his chair, hating his body's reaction. It had been so long since he had spoken to Voldemort. Other than a few heated stares at the Ministry, they had been apart for nearly four weeks.

Yuletide was approaching in a matter of _days. _Izar knew that was one of the reasons Voldemort chose to make an appearance at the Potter residence. To remind Izar that his time was short and that he was also watching him. This was a warning not to get too comfortable with the Potters, a reminder of _who_ Izar was.

Closing his eyes, Izar felt the Dark Lord intentionally make the wards practically crumble before leaving. At his departure, the lights flickered back on and the wards quieted to a gentle hum.

"Should we alert Albus?" James asked Lily, his stance relaxing only a fraction.

"He will not attack tonight," Izar answered for her, emotionally and mentally drained. "He was only playing with you." _With me. _

He opened his eyes to see James and Lily staring at him. Both of them looked uneasy, which Izar could understand. They were exceptionally distrustful of him at the moment. And as to prove Izar's speculation, James Potter lunged. If Izar didn't have advanced reflexes, he would have had trouble seeing James' sudden attack.

"_James_! No!" Lily shouted, standing from the couch and reaching for her husband.

To his credit, Izar remained motionless and almost bored as James Potter pressed his wand into his throat. His green and charcoal eyes studied Potter, daring the man to do anything further. If the Auror made another move, Izar would have to take this situation into his own hands.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't just kill you now rather than on the battlefield."

"Give you a reason?" Izar mulled it over lazily. "I'm afraid I don't feel inclined nor worried enough to give you a _reason_." The Black heir's lip twitched before he gave in and smiled darkly at Potter. His gaze dropped to the wand at his throat then to the man holding it in place firmly. "In fact, why don't you go ahead and kill me? It would give _me _a _reason_ to attack _you_."

James' face grew red with anger and his knuckles turned white as he pressed the wand further into Izar's throat. Next to him, Lily hovered, her eyes jumping to Izar and to her husband in slight concern. Concern. She was showing emotions. Was that from the multiple of potions she was taking beneath the sink? Or was that _true _concern that laced beneath those empty eyes?

"Why?" Potter suddenly demanded as his eyebrows furrowed. "Why did you join the Dark? How could someone so young even _know _what they want in life? Do you really understand the consequences of joining a madman? You are an intelligent young man. You don't strike me as the type of wizard who would be fooled by a Dark Lord's petty lies and show of power."

Izar raised his eyebrows at the man's sudden inquiry. He had been unprepared for the question and it took him off-guard. "What makes you think that I would allow myself to be fooled? I know exactly what I want in life. Not all of us went through childhood oblivious. Some of us had to deal with things far more important than harassing their Slytherin classmates." He poked at Potter, remembering Regulus telling him how much James made Severus' life hell.

James' eyes widened a fraction. "You are _sixteen_. How can you even believe that pledging your life to a dreadful cause is a good idea?" The Auror loosened his hold on the wand and dropped it near his side. "Did the Dark Lord offer you a sense of comfort after you found out your mother placed you in the orphanage?"

"Don't," Izar hissed, eyes flashing. "Don't assume as if you know anything about what transpired between Lily and I."

James shook his head. "I don't. But I know enough. I know that she betrayed your father. She, or, rather Dumbledore, thought that she could bring down the Dark Lord through Regulus Black. I understand that she went about it the wrong way. It was… undeniably dishonorable of her." Here, James glanced at a quiet and solemn Lily before turning back to Izar. "And I know that she brought you to an orphanage. Because you hate Muggles so much, I can only assume that the orphanage was where your hate for them took root."

"It would be prudent if you shut your mouth," Izar whispered coolly.

"Is it because you don't want to come to terms with it?" James persisted. "Lily was young and impressionable. She made disgraceful decisions. It took me a long while to come to terms with them myself and I wasn't even the one who was wronged. But I can reassure you that she's suffered every day for what she did. She lives each moment in the past and has never forgiven herself. She never intended for you to grow up in an environment full of hatred."

Izar remained silent, leveling James Potter with a look of indifference. Mentally, he replayed Potter's words, surprised at the passion and heat behind each syllable. The man admitted that what she did was dishonorable and that stunned Izar. He would have thought Lily's husband would have stood by her and supported her through anything. And while Potter did just that, he did so with open eyes, aware of what she did was wrong.

The Black heir had forgiven Lily's Horcrux in his mind those many weeks ago. Could he, perhaps, tell _her _that he forgave her? While Izar hadn't thought long about Lily's sacrifice, he knew that it had left a lasting impression on him. He was… proud and appreciative for what she accomplished with the Horcrux. It destroyed her. She _knew _it would destroy her and she went through with it anyway. To save him.

He had, long ago, taken the blame off of Lily for leaving him in the orphanage. However, he could never forgive her for what she did to Regulus. During the Second Task, she claimed she would betray Regulus again if she was faced with a second chance. But when Izar asked the Horcrux Lily, the piece of soul claimed what she did to Regulus was unforgivable.

He knew this Lily and that Lily were two different people. This Lily was all but an empty shell of the former woman. But if there were still some emotions residing in her…

"I have forgiven Lily for leaving me at the orphanage," Izar suddenly acknowledged. Out loud. He turned to look at _her_, seeing a hint of astonishment dance across her face. Making sure her attention was absorbed on him; Izar reluctantly spoke the next bit. "And I will never forget what she sacrificed for me. I will forever be…thankful."

They both know he spoke of the Horcrux. He knew James Potter was still unaware about what Lily constructed and Izar respected that secret and remained blunt. He watched as Lily placed a hand to her throat, her lips pressed tightly together.

Izar's face closed up the next moment and he offered her an icy stare. "But we're even now. And I will never forgive you for what you did to my father." He suddenly turned away from her and back to James. "As much as Lily's actions have affected my life, I did not join the Dark because of her." Izar flashed the man a cocky grin. "But nice try at trying to pick apart my mind. For being a Gryffindor, it was actually a decent attempt."

"You think Muggles are better off dead," James replied in a flat tone. "I would have thought you would have joined for a deeper meaning, a less superficial and unintelligent reason."

"If you wish to get so involved with the political correctness, Mr. Potter, I do not wish Muggles _dead," _Izar scoffed in amusement. He would rather them all be dead, but he was realistic. "I just want them far away from the Wizarding World as possible. They don't belong anywhere near us." He paused. "I also feel that there should be equality in the Wizarding World. Why should Dark Arts be frowned upon? They are very useful in defense and some wizards' cores are more in tuned with Dark Magic rather than Light. Our society is close-minded."

He didn't know why he was humoring James Potter. Perhaps it was because he was curious about the man or because he wanted to defend himself. Though, why should Potter's opinion of him be so valued? It shouldn't matter that Potter thought Izar joined the Dark just to kill off Muggles.

And then James Potter uttered something Izar found hard to believe. "I can understand where you're coming from. And I agree."

Lily sat down abruptly, her face closed of any expression as she watched the two of them converse. Luckily, she did not interfere. Izar was so _very _interested in James Potter at this moment. He didn't want anyone to get in the way.

Izar leaned forward suddenly, narrowing his eyes at the Auror. "Excuse me?"

James backed away from Izar, keeping a steady gaze as he sat down upon the coffee table. "I said I agree." Potter flashed a smug grin. "You don't think that all Light Wizards have the same views, do you? I know a few Dark curses that I become curious about and try during battle. Though, it's always frowned upon. I believe that our society needs to change their views. Not all wizards who practice the Dark Arts should be looked down upon with distaste." James and Lily shared a look. "And I also agree that Muggles are getting far too involved with our world."

"James," Lily began a bit sharply. "My parents were just fine with me being a witch. We've had this discussion before."

"That may be so, but your sister is proof that not all Muggles accept magic, Lily." James offered her a heated gaze before giving his full attention to Izar. "There needs to be restrictions between Muggles and Wizards." Potter raised a high eyebrow as he leaned closer to Izar. "It seems to me that we have similar beliefs, Izar. And yet, we're on the opposite side of the battlefield. But that's only because I know you're going about this _change_ in the wrong way."

"Oh?" Izar murmured in amusement. Just like most, Potter believed Voldemort was trying to change Britain by force. Little did the man know that Undersecretary Riddle was the one who would be making the change. Riddle would manipulate the public into believing a change was _needed. _"Enlighten me, then."

"Simple," James began, waving a hand as if brushing aside Izar's mocking tone. "You're drawing too much attention from the Muggles. You say you want them as far away from the Wizarding World as possible? Then why are you bringing attention to our world by attacking them? What the Death Eaters are doing now is destruction. Do you honestly believe the public will change their views of Dark Wizards with all these attacks? Their hate and suspicion of the Dark Arts have only increased since you've revealed yourselves to Britain.

"And," the man pressed. "I know a few Death Eaters. And I know that they are bloodthirsty. What will become of them if you succeed in changing the Wizarding World? Will you have them continue their torture and killing for fun? Do you think the public will stand for that?"

Izar tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, gazing blankly at Potter. The man's words rang true. For all the rumors Izar heard about James Potter being rather dim, the man was actually a good theorist.

Though, Izar had already thought about those concerns. For one thing, he wasn't worried about Muggles being aware of the Wizarding World through Voldemort's attacks. The Dark Lord was smart about attacking in both Muggle and Wizarding communities. Not only did Ministry officials _obliviate _Muggles who saw too much, but Muggles did their own damage control. They created lies and stories for things they could not explain. The Muggle public would be otherwise oblivious to what was happening.

However, Izar found himself mulling over what Potter pointed out about the Death Eaters' obsession over killing and torturing. What would happen when the war was over? That they were forced to leave Muggles alone and live among the Light Wizards in harmony?

Bellatrix, Voldemort… even Izar craved the battle scene far too much for what was healthy. Life would be rather dull if there wasn't a battle to look forward to.

It was something to ask Voldemort about when Izar got the chance.

But other than that, James Potter's fears were for naught. The man was ignorant about Tom Riddle's true political plans to change the public's views. For a moment, Izar wondered if James would approve of Tom Riddle's plans. Probably not. The man was too much against what the Death Eaters did on their raids. While Potter liked to believe he had the same views as Izar… they didn't.

Their senses of the Dark Arts were far different. Their morals were night and day.

"All very good points," Izar conceded indolently, turning his attention back on the topic at hand. "But as I said earlier, the Light is close-minded. They will never agree to a peaceful change. That is why we are doing it this way. By force."

James shook his head. "You may believe that, Izar, but your Master is unstable. If he gets hold of this world, he will destroy it."

Izar suddenly chuckled lowly, his laugh sounding sinister even to his own ears. "Your Minister is already doing a good job of destroying this world from the inside out." Izar caressed the leather couch, keeping his sights leveled on a bemused Potter. "Besides," he drawled. "Don't be too sure you have any idea what the Dark Lord has planned."

Potter pushed up his lenses and smiled sadly. "The same goes for you," he said. "As much as it intrigues me to know what the Dark Lord has planned, I know that the man does not trust or look highly upon anyone but himself. You are just a lowly Death Eater to him. Don't assume otherwise, Izar. Please. For your own sanity."

The Black heir frowned deeply at the raw concern coming from Potter. This had gone on _long_ enough. "I think I've had enough conversation for one night."

Admittedly, Izar was still intrigued by James Potter, but he believed tonight's conversation allowed him to better understand the man. James Potter was just a wizard who wanted to be on friendly terms with everyone, to be diplomatic. For example, Potter claimed he was interested in the Dark Arts. But Izar knew James Potter had barely brushed the top layer of the Dark. The man's aura was sparkling clean. Darkness did not taint him like it did Lily's aura. Or even Rufus'.

While Potter must have matured greatly since Hogwarts, the man, in all ways, was still the same. At Hogwarts, James competed for attention, he needed to be popular. And by doing so, he did stupid things.

And it hadn't changed.

Potter still wanted to be liked by many. Only, instead of pranks and targeting those lower than him, James tried to have an open opinion about everything to gain more allies. The man would be a very decent politician if he wasn't so involved with the Aurors.

Still, James Potter was realistic and he wasn't stupid. For that, Izar had a grudging respect for. The man would be a very decent opponent on the battlefield and off.

"Can you handle the rest of the calculations?" He grabbed his cloak from the chair, barely flashing Lily a look before turning for the door. "Just lower the frequency and make sure you get the calculations back to the Department before the others arrive tomorrow morning."

"I will," Lily's voice was soft as it followed Izar out the door and into the dark night.

Once Izar shut the door, he gave a light sigh and leaned against the door. He closed his eyes against the cool night, trying to calm his anxiety.

A lot was riding on sabotaging this invention. The heavy weight on his shoulders was only small evidence to what he was feeling. And the Horcruxes… he was _so _close. And yet, there was something that always stood in Izar's way when he was close to completing it. The various Dark Curses did not enjoy being so close together. They did not like to be confined in a small space with other properties. They wanted to overrule one another. If they could just bloody…

Izar forced his eyes open and pushed himself off the Potter's house. Sitting here and feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to accomplish _anything_.

**{Death of Today}**

Rufus' invention, or rather, Oran's invention, was a simple structure. There were four identical posts that stood around eight feet in height. Each of the posts had a generator embedded inside. It was easy for anyone to pick up the post and carry it, which had been Oran's idea. When the Death Eaters arrived on a raid, the Unspeakables would move the posts to four corners. Once it was activated, it would become a force-field—trapping anyone within its perimeters inside.

There was also a control panel that rivaled the appearance of a Muggle computer. It controlled the amount of radiation issued from the generators for however long.

In all ways, it was built incredibly well.

Izar just _hated _it.

He sat against the far wall of the Department, watching Oran type in the calculations into the control panel. Inside the invention, a few Pixies were flying around. The idea was that Pixies had a magical core inside them that mimicked a Wizard's core. For good measure, a Thestral was also occupied inside the perimeter. The Thestral's magical core was as large as a wizard's. Trial and error would be more accurate with a Thestral than Pixies.

Izar had suggested they just use Conner Oran for the guinea pig. However, that hadn't gone over very well…

His eyes swept the length of the isolated room before landing on Lily. The redhead stood amongst most of the Unspeakables, her arms crossed and appearing nonchalant.

When the generators made a loud hum, Izar knew the radiation had begun. The Pixies began screaming and the Thestral flapped its heavy wings in nervousness. Izar pushed off from the wall, taking a step closer and critically eyeing the invention. The Pixies began to fall from their flight, their magical core shriveling. However, the Thestral remained intact and strong, seemingly unaffected by the radiation.

Izar eyed the disappointed Unspeakables before slithering back in the shadows, a small, almost invisible smirk creasing his mouth. He drank in Oran's surprised and crestfallen expression. The man then frowned deeply, his eyebrows furrowing before he locked eyes with Izar.

A stubborn sneer crossed Oran's face as he pushed away from the control panel and stalked toward Izar. The Unspeakables quieted, their attention on the two men who were always at each other's throats.

"What the hell are you useful for?" Oran whispered darkly. Behind him, the generators ceased and the Pixies began to slowly recover. Their magical cores were reestablishing themselves. The radiation had been too low; exactly what Lily and Izar had planned.

"I beg your pardon?" Izar felt inclined to respond.

Conner clenched his teeth together and hissed sharply. "You looked over those calculations after I approved them. You said that the frequency of the radiation would be enough for the standard wizard core to shrivel permanently." The young man threw back his arm, motioning toward the unaffected Thestral. "Now it was too _less_?"

Izar remained unpretentious by Oran's temper tantrum. "I don't see why you're so angry with me," Izar murmured. "You were the one to come up with those calculations." He pointed it out patiently, keeping his voice low enough for the surrounding Unspeakables to strain to hear.

Brown eyes narrowed fiercely. "You and I both know you're better at the calculated side of the inventions. You looked over my work yesterday and agreed it was the right amount of radiation and the subatomic particles accompanying it." Oran threw down his arms, shaking his head. "I don't understand why you're doing this. I don't understand why the Minister wanted you here with us. We would have been finished by now."

The Black heir pushed off from the wall, taking an advancing step closer to the Unspeakable. "Scrimgeour said _you _requested my presence for this invention."

Oran's eyes creased in amusement. "He was just brown-nosing you, Black. I wanted no part of your participation. This was _my _invention. I wanted you far from it. At first it was the threat of competition, but it's clear that I should have never been worried about that."

Izar stared into the man's eyes, his unease rising. The more time he spent around this invention, the more Izar was suspicious of Rufus' motives. Scrimgeour couldn't possibly think Izar would assist in this invention, did he? In fact, wouldn't Rufus believe that Izar would try to sabotage it?

He didn't get time to respond to Oran or analyze Scrimgeour's motives, for a lavender paper airplane flew and hit Izar on the shoulder. Turning away from Oran, Izar snatched the paper and opened it.

_Your father has awoken and is requesting your presence. _

_Sirius._

Izar folded the parchment quickly, glaring at Oran. "I must take my leave." Without waiting for Oran to spit out any retort, Izar made his way toward the exit. "Might I suggest starting over with the calculations and starting fresh? It may take longer, but at least you have a clean slate."

He caught Lily's eyes and she gave a shadow of a smile before turning her back on him and speaking to another Unspeakable.

Izar left the Department of Mysteries heavier than usual. His plan with Lily had worked. For now. And yet, something was not _right_. This situation with Oran and Scrimgeour nagged at him cruelly, warning him that not everything was as it seemed. The question was… who was putting up a front? Scrimgeour? Or was it Conner Oran?

Or worse, both?

His lips thinned as he took long strides through the Ministry. Izar couldn't do anything right now. After he was reassured with Regulus' condition, he could sit down and flesh out this issue at hand. Drastic measures may need to be taken and Izar knew the Dark Lord would not approve of the path. However, it would save the Death Eaters' arses. And quite frankly, Izar found living a double life tiring.

His thoughts were in such turmoil, he did not notice the dark eyes of Undersecretary Riddle watch him stride toward the exit of the Ministry.

Freedom from the confining Ministry came closer and Izar grew even more agitated. But he didn't get very far. Sirius Black stood ahead amongst a group of Aurors. The man had his body turned sideways so he could easily watch people leave and enter the Ministry. When his dark grey eyes landed on Izar, they darkened further.

Izar paid the man no heed as he walked past, but a hand around his wrist tugged him back toward his uncle. The young wizard hissed at being tugged so roughly. Was it too much to ask to be able to accomplish something without any problems? He was beginning to believe nothing could ever go smoothly for him.

"Izar," Sirius breathed softly. He backed Izar further away from the group of Aurors to give them some privacy. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The Black heir frowned, impatient. Next to Sirius, James Potter came to a stop, his hazel eyes drinking in Izar's appearance. _Bloody hell_. Izar didn't know how much he could handle before he snapped completely. He felt as if it would be soon if things kept up the way they were going.

"I don't have time for guessing games, Sirius," Izar snapped a bit coldly. "I need to see Regulus. Though, I'm _happy _you were able to see him before I was." He made a move to depart, but Sirius held him steady.

"He's paralyzed," Sirius rasped out. "He's paralyzed for Merlin's _sake _and you didn't tell me? I thought he was just in a coma. Imagine my surprise when I see him sitting in a wheelchair. Permanently." Sirius thrust his face closer to Izar's, his hands steel bands across his nephew's shoulders. "Why didn't you _tell _me? My younger brother is crippled." The man shook Izar roughly, his expression contorted painfully.

Izar looked down, trying to steady his rising temper. "Why didn't I tell you?" he whispered bitterly. "Because you've obviously have chosen your side," Izar spoke bitingly, throwing a look at a hovering James Potter. "This summer we got along wonderfully. You and Regulus were starting to mend your relationship as brothers. And then afterward, you never contacted Regulus or I again."

Izar stepped closer, nearly brushing noses with his uncle. The man's charcoal eyes had widened a fraction, surprised that Izar could turn around the conversation so skillfully. But Izar did not see this as means to explain his silence over Regulus' condition. He was doing this as his first step at making Sirius question his loyalties with the Light. Let them see how far Sirius' loyalty to his family _really _stretched.

"Regulus brushed off your absence as if it didn't bother him," Izar continued softly. "He even went as far as to say he accepted you were on the opposite side of the battlefield. At the time, I was foolish enough to believe him. But now I know that he covered up his pain exceptionally well. How could he possibly accept the fact that he finally had the chance to get to know his older brother only to have that same brother walk out on him again?"

"I…" Sirius shook his head, his eyebrow furrowed.

"It's nice that you were finally able to get back your best friend." Izar nodded sharply to James Potter. "After all, he was your true brother throughout your childhood, wasn't he? But this summer, you told me that you would never go back to supporting Dumbledore again. You told me, if anything, you'd be neutral. You confessed that you didn't want to fight me. What is this?" Izar motioned to Sirius' Auror robes. "The Ministry _is _supporting Dumbledore. The very same man who not only tore Regulus' life to shreds, but Lily's as well?"

Aware of the eyes on them, Izar realized he had to cut this short. He needed to plant the seed of doubt quickly and leave. He had no time to see if it took growth. And he couldn't promise that James Potter wouldn't be here to pick up the pieces of Sirius and piece him back together. But Izar would try his best to crack Sirius' petty wall he tried to construct after this summer.

Izar leaned forward, placing his hand on Sirius' cheek and intentionally pressing his Black Heir ring against his uncle's skin. "As far as I'm concerned, you are no longer a part of the Black family. How could you _possibly _care about Regulus if you're on the opposite side of the war? When you have your own family back in your life?"

He only stayed long enough to see the color drain completely from Sirius' face.

"_Izar_!"

The Black heir did not turn at Sirius' call as he left the Ministry. Family would always be important to Izar. He would always try his damnest to protect them. But if Sirius remained with the Aurors after Izar's manipulative guilt charade, then he would have to reexamine Sirius' role in this war.

Granted, he could never _intentionally_ kill his uncle.

Izar once promised Regulus that he would somehow serve the Dark completely but still find a way to protect Sirius.

He hated himself for still feeling that way with an enemy.

**{Death of Today}**

"You look… preppy," Izar drawled as he walked in on Regulus reading a book. The man was sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed, his scarred face looking particularly marred in the evening sky. And yet, the man appeared lighter, younger, and more handsome.

Regulus quickly put the book down and stared at Izar in adoration. "Izar," the man breathed warmly. "Come closer, my son."

Izar didn't hesitate as he approached the wheelchair and bent down to embrace his father. Regulus' warm hands cupped his face, holding him in place and kissing his forehead. His father smelt better than he had these past few weeks in his coma. With only Freshening Charms to bathe him, Regulus hadn't smelt exactly as good as he did now. His father smelt like his usual clean self with a hint of masculinity and muskiness.

"How are you feeling? You certainly appear as if you aren't permanently paralyzed." Izar spoke honestly, not tiptoeing around Regulus' condition.

His father offered Izar a thin smile. "I feel better than I have in _years_, Izar. Severus has helped me come to terms with a few things. I'm sure he told you about our Legilimency bond."

A bond. That was what Regulus referred to it as. Izar smirked. "Is that so? A bond between you and _Severus_?" Sitting on the bed across from his father, Izar idly picked at the invisible soot on his robes. "It's no wonder you are feeling so high-spirited, then."

Izar glanced up at his father, pausing when he saw the smug smile upon Regulus' face. It was almost unbelievable how calmly Regulus was taking his condition. Granted, it must have helped to have the level-headed Severus Snape inside his father's mind during his coma, but his father appeared so _different_.

Regulus hadn't lost his grand-like aura. In fact, the air around his father had only increased since the accident. The man was sitting proudly and regally in his chair with his shoulders thrown back and neck extended. He looked every bit of a pure-blood wizard now than he ever had before. His wavy black hair was neatly arranged, cut shorter and groomed flawlessly. The goatee Regulus cut short a few days after remerging from his fifteen year seclusion was now absent, bringing attention to his aristocratic features.

The charcoal eyes staring back at him were clearer—sharper.

"I have many things to thank Severus for," Regulus agreed. "I have been living in the past for my whole adult life. It's good to finally wake up to the present." The man leaned forward, placing a hand on Izar's knee. The Black ring on Regulus' finger seemed to be worn like a crown. "And it's good to finally see you after for so long. A lot must have happened."

"It has," Izar acknowledged. "But here is probably not the best place to discuss such things."

He stared back at his father's searching look. Ever since Izar discovered the Black tapestry, he had debated if he should destroy it before Regulus came home or leave it as is. Would Regulus remember seeing Izar's skull and year of mortality? Or would he forget all about it among this whole ordeal?

It had been a difficult choice, but Izar had mended the Black tapestry and put an incredibly strong glamour on his own spot on the tree. He was now 'alive' and well. It would be curious to see if Regulus mentioned it or if he forgot about the whole thing during his coma. Staring into his father's eyes, Izar wondered just how much Regulus knew but was inclined to keep quiet about.

His father reached up and cradled his cheek, brushing his thumb against Izar's skin.

"So can I assume you and Severus are a couple now?" Izar directed the conversation back around.

Regulus scoffed. "Not yet," the man denied, removing his hand from Izar's face almost reluctantly. "But we have made strides that would've likely taken us years to complete. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't feel this acceptable about my position."

"And do you?" Izar murmured, curious. "What do you truly feel about your condition?"

Regulus looked down at his legs, pressing his palms into his thighs in thought. "I can't say that I'm happy about it. I know someday I _will _walk again." Regulus glanced up at Izar. "Dark Magic was what made me this way. I embrace the Dark, worship it. It cannot keep me in this condition forever if I take the correct steps."

It was a silly thing to say, Izar believed. He wasn't very heavy with worshiping the Dark or serving the _Dark_. Some Dark Wizards went through rituals to worship the Dark and even some Light Wizards worshipped their own branch of magic. They believed in superstitions and fantasies that were rehearsed to them during their childhood. It was mostly pure-bloods who went through with the rituals. It was also one thing Regulus did not push on Izar.

Izar was more of a scientific believer. While he had the utmost respect for magic and even understood the different temperaments of Light and Dark—he did not worship them separately through sacraments.

"Even if it does not miraculously happen that way, I can assist you," Izar reassured calmly. "I don't know the human body well, but I can learn it—"

His father suddenly shook his head. "It's incredibly touching that you want to help. And I will even accept your help. But not now, Izar." The man's eyes creased as he examined Izar. "I can see that you're going through too much right now. The strain is clear in your eyes."

Izar looked away toward the window and the setting sun. He hoped it was not so obvious to those who did not know him very well.

"I am a free man right now," Regulus began again when Izar remained stubbornly silent. His father lifted his sleeve, revealing a naked forearm that had just recently been Marked not too long ago. A wistful smile crossed Regulus' face. "He will not Mark me again. I don't know what I feel about that, but I do feel sorry that I cannot participate in any battles." Suddenly, Regulus glanced up at Izar, an insane twinkle to his eyes. "Perhaps I can convince you to bring me home a Muggle from time to time? Preferably not any children this time around."

Izar exhaled nosily, glaring at his father. "The boy is utterly irritating. The sooner you come home to look after him the faster he's out of _my _hair."

Regulus flashed a smile full of teeth. "You have a soft spot for Aiden," his father declared smugly. "You've grown to care for him, haven't you?"

"Hardly," Izar sneered. "If anything, he has grown more exasperating. Despite how many times I explain to him that it's impossible, he still insists that he wants his new name to be Izar Junior."

Regulus tipped back his neck and laughed. Izar sat back, not seeing any amusement in the situation. Though, just this once, he would let Regulus' mirth continue. It was good to see the dark and hunted shadows across his father's face finally disappear.

**{Death of Today}**

A knock at the door interrupted Rufus from his work. With a muttered invitation to enter, he was pleasantly pleased to see Conner Oran, his trusted Unspeakable, slither inside. The young man was all but a boy in Rufus' eyes, and yet, he was a few years older than Izar Black. Despite this, Oran appeared younger than Rufus' targeted interest. The Unspeakable was wringing his hands together nervously and his eyes were shifty.

Rufus did not blame the boy. He had gotten too use to Izar Black and his skill at veiling his emotions… if the boy even had emotions. A situation such as this was serious. It was to be expected that someone as young as Conner Oran was apprehensive.

"Minister?" Conner ventured hesitantly. "It's just like you said," the boy whispered. "Black changed the calculations."

Rufus leaned back in his leather office chair. "I thought as much," he sighed warily. "Have you completed the invention, nonetheless?"

At this, the boy perked up and his chest inflated with pride. "Yes, sir," he grinned. "I saved a copy of my notes before he changed it. I tested it when all the other Unspeakables went home for the night. It is ready whenever you wish to use it."

Rufus allowed a thin smile to stretch across his scarred face. "Good work, Mr. Oran." Here, the boy seemed to grow more confident. "We must act as quickly as we can. I can only assume Mr. Black will figure us out if we drag our feet. His father woke from his coma today. He will be distracted enough for the rest of the day."

Scrimgeour sat up and leaned slower to his desk. "The Death Eaters are likely to attack tonight. My contact has reassured me that the Dark Lord has been impatient and is scheduling a raid. We must make certain Black is accompanying us."

Oran nodded sharply. "I am sure he will be joining us, sir. He has no excuse to remain absent."

Rufus just grinned.

He certainly hoped not.


	53. Part II Chapter 21

_Thanks for reading/reviewing. _

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"_Quiet_," Conner hissed. His voice was shaking and it came out barely audible to his own ears. "Do you want us to get caught before the others arrive?" If they were caught, Conner could only imagine what would happen.

Peering through the thick brush, his eyes absorbed the sight of the burning homes and the screaming… and the blood and the gore. It was all in front of him. He'd seen it before when he accompanied the Aurors on their missions to stop the Death Eaters, but he had never been _here_. Alone. Vulnerable. Inactive. Watching this all unfold. Without doing a thing to stop it.

He swallowed thickly as he watched a wizard try in vain to defend his family and his home against the brutal and callous attack. The Death Eaters laughed, their metallic masks reflecting eerily off the flames of their victims' houses. Conner was too far to see their eyes, but he knew they would be twinkling with suppressed insanity and blood-lust. They were _monsters_. All of them were monsters as they tortured and maimed their targets.

They didn't deserve magic. None of them did. If he were having doubts before about his invention, he certainly didn't now. Albus Dumbledore helped him through his uncertainties. As did Rufus Scrimgeour tonight.

Conner had to blink away the furious and horrified tears that sprang to his eyes as he watched a human get skinned. The skin peeled away with simplicity, revealing muscle and ligaments beneath. Hurriedly leaning over, Conner gave a dry-heave, well aware of the Unspeakables' eyes on him. Only ten accompanied him. Two would carry one post and create a perimeter around the Death Eaters while Conner would be ready to activate the shield as quickly as possible.

The idea was to surround the Death Eaters before the Ministry arrived, all the while, trying to remain concealed.

"You alright?" one of the Unspeakables murmured.

Conner flushed, wiping his mouth and nodding. "Just fine."

Grudgingly, he turned his eyes back to the scene beneath him and immediately zeroed in on the leader. The Dark Lord. The tall figure seemed absorbed on the Muggles at his feet and nothing else surrounding him. Conner felt his knees tremble. If he wasn't already kneeling, he would have gone to the ground in fright.

Pushing away his fear, he reminded himself that other men could fight against the Dark Lord.

Conner would do the same. Only… from a distance.

"Let's get going while they're still focused on their targets. Hurry."

**{Death of Today}**

Izar sat beside Regulus. With one ear, he could hear his father recount the watered-down incident in France. However, his attention was tuned into his own thoughts. The atmosphere tonight was thick and heavy, a warning.

A warning, but to whom?

His fingers lightly stroked his wand as he wondered if it would be possible to clone Aiden and then shrink him. That way, he could carry around a portable Seer without having to pay attention to the boy. Every hour, he could check the status of the clone and hear if there were any new visions Aiden had. After which, he could shut the boy up by placing him back in his pocket until he was needed again.

Very desirable but also very impossible.

"I'm sorry," Regulus mused in false delight. "Am I boring you?"

"Yes, you are," Izar spoke sardonically. He blinked at Regulus, finally snapping himself out of his musings. "When are you getting out of here?"

Regulus rubbed his naked jaw and studied Izar thoughtfully. "I'm apparently being evaluated. The Healers find it astonishing that I came out of my coma in such a good mood. Heaven forbid someone actually looking at the positive than the negative. They think I should go through therapy."

Izar grunted, standing from the bed and cracking his back. "I'd say they just want to squeeze a bit more gold from your vault." Izar flashed a look at the hovering nurse and offered her a heavy sneer. "Bloody Healers don't know a thing. They just hand out medication and expect gold in return."

Regulus watched in intrigue as the nurse huffed and stormed out of the room.

"If it's up to me, which I believe it is, I will hire you a private therapist to come to our home," Izar informed, straightening his Unspeakable robes. "A thorough background check will need to be done, of course. I want nothing but the best until you can walk again."

He came to a stop next to his father before placing his hand on Regulus' cheek in farewell.

"You're leaving?" Regulus asked, reaching up and pressing Izar's hand further into his skin. The man acted as if Izar hadn't just sat here for a good handful of hours. "I've enjoyed speaking to you. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to visit with your wounded father."

"Wounded?" Izar grinned. "It looks to me like your _glowing _from interacting with Severus for so long. I don't know whether to believe that's a good or bad thing."

"That may be," Regulus agreed with a smug smile. But then his face clouded. "Are you going to Lily's home tonight? I've heard that you've been visiting her lately these past few weeks." The man's face was hard as stone and unreadable. Even Izar had trouble discerning what his father was thinking.

"It's not what you think," Izar started to defend himself. He didn't want Regulus to believe he had forgiven Lily for all that she did to him. "She and I—"

"Hey," Regulus interrupted him gently. "I believe it's a good thing you're getting to know her. Despite everything she's done in the past, she _is_ your mother. That is not something I can take away. I told you I came to terms with things during my recovery. She was one of them. I only hope, one day, you can do the same."

"I can't believe you are…"

Izar trailed off abruptly, clenching his jaw when an excruciating burn exploded through his Dark Mark. Moments later, his gold Ministry bracelet began to warm far more comfortably than the Dark Mark. Staring straight ahead of him, Izar allowed just one minute of frozen panic and alarm to wash across his mind and body.

He was standing at a crossroads this very moment. With the ban still set in place over Izar's participation with the Death Eaters, the Dark Lord wouldn't be calling him if it wasn't of the utmost importance. And Izar knew what Voldemort needed him for, he just couldn't believe or come to terms with it.

The invention couldn't be completed already. He thought he was guaranteed at least a _day _before they put it to use. Tonight, he was going to suggest to Lily to part ways with him unless she wanted to get caught. For he knew he would have to do something extreme in order to stop the invention for being used. She shouldn't have to be caught in the middle of it while he destroyed it. Dancing around and trying to setback the date of completion had been a novel idea but in the end, it just rendered Izar oblivious.

But now it was too late to abolish it.

Or was it?

"Izar?" Regulus questioned, concerned. "What is it?"

Izar pulled his hand from Regulus' face and turned. "I have to leave. I will likely be back tonight if things don't go according to plan…"

Izar would arrive at the Ministry as an Unspeakable. He believed he would have a greater advantage with destroying the invention if he was guised as an Unspeakable rather than a Death Eater. Nonetheless, if things turned out for the worse, Izar would have no qualms with revealing his true allegiances. Whatever it took to make certain the Dark Lord and his servants did not get their magical cores' damaged beyond repair, Izar would take that chance.

As he swept through the length of the corridors, Izar wondered _how _he was going to destroy it.

While Izar was considered a prodigy, he was no match against _twenty _Unspeakables. With their minds all merged together, they were just as brilliant as himself. It had been a challenge just to try to keep them off track with Lily as his partner. And all twenty Unspeakables who were working on Oran's invention were handpicked because of their intelligence and loyalty to the Minister. If and when Izar destroyed the invention, he knew he would have to hunt down each Unspeakable and kill them before they had a chance to reconstruct another device.

But that was to consider for later. He needed to come up with a solution to terminate the device itself.

The invention had layers of spells on it when the force-field was activated. Spells that would ensure that the posts could not be tampered with while it was holding their intended victims inside. If Izar could get there in time, he may catch the invention before it was triggered. Only then, he would have a chance at destroying it through the Dark Arts. But judging from the intense burn in his Mark, Izar was already too late. He just hoped that they wouldn't run the radiation anytime soon.

Manipulating the control panel was what Izar would aim for.

Of course, Izar could throw away his original plan and opt for his second choice of Apparating where Voldemort was as a Death Eater. The only problem with that, however, would be his lack of support. On sight, in his Death Eater robes, Izar would be a targeted enemy. Whereas this way, as an Unspeakable, he wouldn't be immediately attacked.

Despite his suspicions about Scrimgeour's plans, Izar needed to push away his insecurities and see where tonight took him.

And who knew?

This could be incredibly… _fun. _

**{Death of Today}**

"Mr. Black…you finally showed up, I see," Owen Welder, the Head Unspeakable, grunted from across the hall.

Izar's steps were cat-like as he approached the group of Unspeakables. His eyes took in the lack of Aurors and only the Department of Unspeakables awaiting his presence. Lily stood off from the group, her arms crossed and her attention on someone down the hall. Turning, Izar saw James Potter eyeing the proceedings with suspicion before nodding once to Lily and taking off down the corridor.

"Minister Scrimgeour asked to wait for you specifically," Owen continued, stroking his bushy orange beard. His dark eyes narrowed. "Any idea why?"

"I was just about to ask _you_ why," Izar murmured as he stopped in front of the crowd of observant Unspeakables. "The Aurors? Are they not accompanying us?"

"Scrimgeour has expressed his confidence that we won't need the Aurors for this," Owen barked, appearing a bit frazzled as he stroked more heavily on his beard, pulling at the small hairs and twisting them.

"Ah," Izar tsked. "Of course." Of course it would make perfect sense that Scrimgeour did not _want _the Aurors with them. Rufus wanted this invention to be kept a secret, to stay under wraps. The Minister thought that this way, he would have a better chance of activating the invention and 'destroying' it before anyone but the Unspeakables was the wisest. But did the man truly think that would work?

There had only been twenty Unspeakables that were knowledgeable about the invention. That left over thirty oblivious Unspeakables that would most likely be curious about seeing this invention tonight and thirty potential men and women who would try to mimic what they saw.

Izar caught Rookwood's gaze, surprised to find only nonchalance. The past few weeks, Izar had experienced nothing but contempt from the Death Eaters in public. They would sneer at him in passing, murmur insulting invectives, and the bolder ones even spit at his feet. They were all aware of his absence within the Death Eater ranks and they heard whispers about the time he spent at the Potter household.

Nodding to Rookwood, Izar knew he had at least two allies.

The first?

He turned to Lily. There was a hint of green pallor across her face and Izar knew she was more than aware of what was transpiring. That was the reason why she silently warned James Potter. Izar didn't know what to think about that. Did he want the Aurors to arrive at the scene and see the invention? There would the possibility that the Aurors would see Rufus as a conniving man and assist Izar and Lily, but it was unlikely.

"Well," Owen murmured, snapping Izar out of his musings. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Without warning, Izar's bracelet gave a sharp tug and the Unspeakables vanished from the Ministry hall before Izar could get a solid opinion or plan on the matter.

The first thing he saw when his feet landed on the cold ground was Rufus Scrimgeour's face highlighted unnervingly by the orange flames from the surrounding houses. The Minister was standing peacefully near the scorching house, his hands clasped confidently behind his back as he grinned widely at Izar. A sharp spasm of thrill raced across Izar's belly at Rufus' expression. The man wanted to _play_ and Izar found himself rising up to the invitation.

But his ecstasy didn't last long. The surprised and bemused murmurs from the Unspeakables caught his attention and he whirled around to see a good portion of the Dark Army trapped within the glimmering force-field of Conner Oran's invention. The perimeter was done rather sloppily, as it trapped a few stray Muggles and wizards inside. But what Izar found the most disturbing was the fact that Voldemort had been so caught off guard and taken by surprise.

The Death Eaters were trying their best to throw spells at the surrounding perimeter but Izar knew well enough that _nothing _could break out of that contraption. Lord Voldemort stood amongst his army, appearing oddly frozen in place.

Izar took a step forward, trying to spark a reaction from the Dark Lord. The man's hooded figure remained motionless, only his robes fluttering with the force of the spells being thrown inside the perimeter. His wand stayed lowered, hovering over the dead Muggle at his feet. Izar's eyes narrowed in suspicion. All the other Death Eaters were seemingly frantic at being trapped. They rivaled the appearance of wild animals being enclosed in a cage for the first time, unsuccessfully trying to escape. But Voldemort was oddly acceptable.

"What the _hell _is this?" Owen Welder yelled. Around him, the other Unspeakables gazed at the contraption through wide and inquisitive eyes.

"This," Rufus began, stepping closer to the Unspeakables. "Is the invention that will finally bring peace to our country. And it's all thanks to Izar Black."

Eyes shot to the motionless figure of Izar. He remained facing forward, watching as the Death Eaters hissed under their breath as they caught sight of him.

Exactly what was Rufus playing at? Did the man wish to tame him? Make Izar stand here and watch as his comrades' magical cores were shriveled beyond repair? Did Rufus think he could force Izar to the Light Side by telling the Death Eaters he had everything to do with their imprisonment? If Izar attacked back and defended the Death Eaters, Rufus would have his wand down Izar's throat in a matter of seconds.

The Minister had backed Izar into a corner.

And Izar finally understood Voldemort when the man warned him that his claws would get tangled in the ball of yarn. The very same man who Izar believed he knew through and through had backtracked completely on his character and did something that surprised even Izar. It was… both amusing and sickening.

He had been manipulated by… by _Rufus Scrimgeour. _The very same man known to carry a hot temper and act out of impatience.

Izar chuckled softly. Nonetheless, he wasn't finished yet with _his _side of the playing field. And while Voldemort wanted Rufus alive long enough to extract his political maneuvers, Izar would do everything else in his power to bring down the Minister. Crack his barriers and rattle the man.

"That's not true…" a woman's hoarse and raspy voice called Rufus' bluff from inside the perimeter. Izar knew right away, from her slouched and animalistic posture that it was Bellatrix. "You're lying through those pointed teeth of yours Rufus."

"Izar Black?" Someone called out weakly, disgustingly. "You're saying… that Izar Black had everything to do with this? Are… are you serious?"

Izar turned away from Bellatrix, spying Conner Oran standing weakly at the front of the perimeter. In his shaking hands he clutched the control panel. The boy didn't look very controlled if his trembling and white face had anything to do with it. His eyes were wide, almost deranged as he looked at Rufus Scrimgeour in betrayal.

"This was _my _invention. Mine."

Raising his eyebrows, Izar offered Rufus a thin smile. Apparently Scrimgeour hadn't done the most important thing while planning a surprise confrontation. He hadn't trained his puppets. Conner Oran had been oblivious to Rufus' scheme and the Minister looked like an _idiot _because of that.

The Unspeakables were quietly observing what was transpiring before them. Izar kept his attention divided between the motionless Voldemort, the unbalanced Oran, and the struggling Rufus. Something had to _give. _Voldemort wasn't doing anything but stare at Izar. Had the man really turned so cold this past month that Izar didn't… _feel _anything with this close of proximity? The Dark Lord was completely closed off, stoic. Did the man really believe Izar had something to do with the invention?

"Don't play coy," Rufus started as he advanced closer to Izar. The younger wizard stiffened and let his hand brush across his wand in his pocket. "You know you had everything to do with this invention, Izar. Don't hide behind Conner's bold declaration." The lion-like man cocked his head. "This is something you should be _proud _of, not ashamed of. Why don't we activate our device and prove where your true loyalties stand, yes?"

Izar's lips curled in response. Before he had a chance of replying, a sharp _crack _sounded in the small town that they were currently standing in. Judging from the Death Eater's renowned viciousness, Izar could only assume that whoever Apparated behind him was not extra help. And suddenly, as if noticing for the first time, Izar gazed deeper within the perimeter of Conner's invention and noticed the full army was not included at tonight's raid.

Odd…

"What do you think you're doing, Rufus?" Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Head Auror, announced his presence along with the Aurors Apparating behind him. His dark eyes were narrowed suspiciously on Scrimgeour before they widened on the activated invention further beyond the Minister.

"I'll be kind enough to inform you of what he's doing, Auror Shacklebolt," Izar suddenly announced. He turned sharply, eyeing the dark man. "He's grown power-hungry the day he was elected into office. Ever since that day, he's molded the Department of Mysteries into his own fancy. He's ruined our jobs, he's ruined our lives…." Here, Izar looked at the Unspeakables, speaking passionately in order to catch their undivided attention. "He's challenged our morals and most importantly, he's taken away what we most desire. Secrecy and freedom."

Sick glee warped his chest as he noticed a few Unspeakables nod in agreement. Izar focused primarily on Owen Welder, knowing the man's true feelings about Scrimgeour's takeover in the Department. "And now," he continued. "He's forced many of our hands to create an invention that will destroy the Wizarding World." The contract of silence forbade him from speaking specifics, but that wouldn't stop him from speaking what he _could _say. "With this invention, Minister Scrimgeour has too much control—too much power. It is against every moral I possess."

The Unspeakables were whispering at his back and Owen Welder's eyes hardened. Turning back to Kingsley, Izar smirked. In the back of his mind, he wondered at Rufus' continued silence. The man was doing nothing to stop him.

"It does not simply _kill _the wizards within the perimeter. It destroys them."

"It also goes against my morals," Lily Potter spoke up, standing beside Izar with a determined air about her. "I stand with Izar on this issue completely."

Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows; surprise washing his features at Lily's joined word. Kingsley had the common sense to recognize the seriousness of the situation. Izar also knew both were part of Dumbledore's _Order _and worked close together.

"Enough," Rufus roared as the Unspeakables became too rowdy. The Aurors remained silent, their expressions only mirroring curiosity. "Would you trust his word if you knew he was a loyal Death Eater?"

Suddenly, Izar's left sleeve cut off at the elbow, revealing the black Dark Mark. Izar stared down at it, his ears catching Bellatrix's gleeful laugh. Surprisingly, Izar didn't feel so mortified to be revealed like this despite the way it was done so cowardly. He was aware of multiple wands being drawn and pointed in his direction. Looking up, Izar caught Lily's wide eyes, almost as if she had to see the Dark Mark to really come to terms with Izar's loyalties.

Izar chuckled, raising his hands as his wand was forced from his pocket and in the hand of the advancing Rufus Scrimgeour. A cruel light danced beneath those yellow eyes as the Minister continued to point his wand directly between Izar's eyes.

"I never did like these robes…" Izar drawled with glee.

"You think this is a joke, Black?" Rufus snarled. "I finally have the evidence I need to throw your arse in Azkaban. You can finally lower that proud chin of yours."

"On the contrary," Izar whispered. "I can hold it even higher knowing that I finally got to you."

He could feel the Aurors slowly close in; their wands lifted at the ready just in case Izar had something up his sleeve. In reality, Izar didn't really know what he would do at this point. Something dramatic, no doubt. He wouldn't go down without a fight. But first, a little mocking would lighten his spirits even more.

"How does it feel, Minister?" Izar murmured softly, raising a single eyebrow as Rufus' wand pressed deeply between his eyes. "That you have become the very same thing you vowed to hate?" Izar squinted his eyes. "Does it even occur to you that you've become that man that uses power against others in such a discriminating way? You were all about justice and _Light. _You are just as Dark as any other wizard I know. You've disappointed me."

Rufus lifted his top lip, growling. "What you think of me is hardly a concern."

"I find that doubtful," Izar teased breathlessly, gaining courage from Bellatrix's continued whispers of sweet encouragements and promises. "I can see that this has weighed heavily on you. You know that you're a changed man because of it. Tarnished. Stained."

"Enough," Rufus seethed.

"Lily, why don't you step away from him and we can bring Black into custody," Shacklebolt ordered softly.

"She's not going anywhere but back at the Ministry for questioning," Rufus interrupted, his eyes still on Izar. "I have reason to believe she has assisted Black with his deceit."

"And what deceit is that?" Izar chuckled lowly.

Rufus loomed closer, his elbow bending in order to press his wand more firmly against Izar's forehead. "Don't attempt to protect her. I know just as well that there was no Unforgivables cast on her. She is just as guilty as you, minus the hideous tattoo on her arm."

"Ah, Minister," Izar tsked. "Imperius Curse isn't the only way to get someone to do something. Blackmail is rather… appropriate and it gets things done far more efficiently than the Imperius could ever do. A whispered threat on her husband's life is all that was needed."

Lily made a noise of disagreement in her throat, but Izar reached back and pressed her arm painfully. The action went unseen to Rufus' eyes, for his attention was all on Izar.

"Activate the invention, Mr. Oran," Rufus called, grinning broadly in Izar's face.

"I really don't think that's necessary, Rufus," Shacklebolt reasoned. "The Death Eaters are very well trapped. We can take it from here. Black will be brought back in our custody and the Death Eaters will be well-guarded. We even have the Dark Lord…"

Izar smiled thinly. "Oh, but that's not enough for you, is it Rufus?"

"Izar…" Lily hissed.

"Activate it!" Rufus roared.

"You hate it when you're not in control," Izar mused mockingly despite his uncertainty of the situation.

A dangerous shadow clouded Rufus' eyes as he pulled back his arm and prepared to cast something most likely nasty at Izar. But the shouts from the Death Eater's distracted both their attention. Izar quickly looked, afraid the invention had already been activated, but found himself frowning as the Dark Lord's form began to blink before dissolving completely before their eyes.

It had been a Duplicating Charm, Izar finally realized. That hadn't been the real Dark Lord. Judging from the Death Eaters' surprised reaction, they hadn't known about the man's plan to fool the spectators. Which only made sense. The Dark Lord wouldn't trust _anyone _with the knowledge that he was using a decoy.

"If that's not the Dark Lord…" an Auror started a bit shakily. "Then where is the real one?"

A cold chuckle danced across the group of Aurors before everything… exploded in chaos.

Izar threw back his fist and caught Rufus directly in the face. The Minister stumbled back and Izar ducked down, racing through the throngs of bemused Unspeakables and toward Conner Oran. The young man spied Izar approaching and quickly activated the invention.

"No!" Izar yelled, colliding with Oran and sending them to the ground. Around them, the Death Eaters who had been absent beforehand emerged from the surrounding houses, engaging the Aurors in battle. It gave Izar a little more confidence, especially because his wand was still with Scrimgeour.

Taking a trembling Conner by the collar, Izar pulled the boy up to his face. "You need to stop the radiation. What is the code?" He was wary of destroying the control panel, only because if it was already activated, it would continue to be activated until the cycle was finished. He needed the code to stop the radiation.

With a sharp glance to his left, Izar watched as the Death Eaters remained standing within the perimeter. It would take only a matter of minutes before the radiation did its job of destroying their magical cores. He didn't have very long to stop it.

"I… they don't deserve the magic…" Oran stuttered. "They don't. Dumbledore and Scrimgeour told me…"

"Dumbledore?" Izar demanded, tightening his hold on the boy. "He _knew_?" Of course, Scrimgeour couldn't be acting alone. He got the idea of manipulation from Voldemort but Dumbledore had been whispering in his ear as well. "Don't you realize you were just a pawn in this?"

"I've been dabbling with this idea for a few _years_," Oran spat. "I only got enough courage to construct it because I had the support. I know this is right. Don't try to be condescending." Conner looked down at the Dark Mark on Izar's arm. "You should be in there with them."

Before Izar could use physical means to get the code from Oran, a spell came racing toward them. Izar rolled, but it was unnecessary as Augustus Rookwood stepped in front of him, blocking the curse with a strong shield.

"I got your back, little Black."

Izar slammed his fist against the street, reaching out to pull a retreating Oran back down. The boy slipped, falling ungracefully to the ground before slamming his head hard on the pavement. Conner remained motionless, oblivious to his surroundings. Izar stared, unable to believe the boy was _unconscious_.

"Bloody _hell_," Izar snarled, slapping Oran hard across the face, all the while, reaching for the control panel. His hands were steady despite his bundling nerves.

The control panel was locked, just as Izar suspected. Quickly, he tried a few codes he remembered from the weeks they worked on the invention. None of them worked and only continued to frustrate him. As a last resort, Izar slammed the control panel against the ground, shattering it. The pieces flew in every which direction and with light hopes, Izar glanced back at the invention, only to find it still activated.

"Those are some elite Death Eaters inside. Find a way to destroy it. Now," a voice drawled next to him, dripping of arrogance and haughtiness.

Izar turned his head sharply, narrowing his eyes on a Second Tier Death Eater hovering over him. The Death Eater had to be around Izar's age, judging from the voice and shorter stature. "Why don't _you _make yourself useful and get me a wand?"

The brown eyes watching him were piercing, the same shade and intensity as Riddle's. The Death Eater threw a wand at Izar, hitting him in the chest. "That is the last time I am handing back your wand, child. Keep better track over it."

Child. _Child. _Obviously, it was the Dark Lord in disguise. No one else could possess that much arrogance and confidence, all the while, carrying an aura most wizards could sense from miles away.

Izar threw the Dark Lord a glowering look. He could have used the man's presence earlier while he searched for the code. Voldemort could have used Legilimency on Oran to rip the information out from the fool's mind. But now there was no control panel. Izar was a _fool. _

He breathed deeply, focusing on the invention. "There isn't anything to stop it until it runs its cycle," Izar whispered mostly to himself. "The Unspeakables made _sure _of that."

Around him, screams and shouts sounded as the battle intensified. Some of the Death Eaters who arrived later with a disguised Voldemort were trying to bring down the perimeter around the trapped Death Eaters—but to no avail. Behind Izar, Rookwood gave a pained gasp as a hex caught him viciously across the chest and he fell heavily to the ground. Riddle abandoned Izar's side and took Rookwood's earlier position of protecting Izar's exposed back.

Everything was spinning so quickly. Izar's lips pressed together as he focused forcefully on the activated invention. Inside, the Death Eaters slowly sunk to their knees, their postures reading shock and fear. Izar knew what they were feeling. They were feeling their magic ripped from their bodies, rendering them vulnerable. Just like Regulus and Sirius when Cygnus pinched their magical cores…

Izar's head shot up and he focused internally on his magical core, searching for his gift of magic-sensitivity. Never before had he ripped through his own defenses so brutally. Some wizards entered a mind-trance in order to protect themselves and their mind from experiencing pain or trauma. Izar was doing something similar and he was only achieving such an act out of pure desperation.

Trusting the man at his back, Izar's world dissolved into nothingness as he focused on his magical core. He grew dizzy with how quickly his mind moved around the magical core and he marveled at the sight of the glowing branch-like core split into two; one for the wizard side of him and the other for the creature side. Izar bypassed the wizarding core, knowing full well his magic-sensitivity no longer dwelled inside it.

With renowned determination, Izar stumbled upon a darkened portion of his core and knew where he needed to unlock his gift. The lock holding his gift at bay was feeble, barely strong enough to hold it back. It appeared as if it was just recently reassembled, which would explain how Izar was able to possess his magic-sensitivity at random times since his transformation into a creature.

Despite his wish to explore longer, Izar pulled at the lock and promptly yanked his magic-sensitivity upward as he left his mind.

Pulling his magic-sensitivity out of its confined zone felt as if a hook was lodged deep within his intestines before ripping upward. Izar blinked past the burning in his eyes and gave a pained whimper as he was thrust back into reality.

Around him, past the haziness, Izar could see the magic in the air. It had been far too long since he'd seen auras and _felt _the magic like this. It was blissful and it eased the pain in his head and stomach. Despite the beauty, Izar forced his attention back on the invention and immediately spied the point where all the spells protecting the invention overlapped. It looked similar to a glowing knot that kept all the magic cloaked over the invention and neatly combined together.

Raising his wand and opposite hand, Izar shakily pulled at the knot. The invention made a grinding noise and the four posts trembled at his experimental pull. He dared not to look too long at the occupants inside the perimeter, for their shouts were enough for him to know how much damage was already done.

Izar heaved an angry breath and abruptly _pulled_ the magical knot apart. The magic seemed to purr at his contact and licked hotly across his skin as it unraveled. Izar closed his eyes against the sudden onslaught of magic as the invention came down uselessly. The posts clattered to the ground, the glass embedded in the generators shattering across the ground. Izar was sprinkled with a few shards of glass but otherwise remained standing tall despite the exhaustion intertwined through his bones.

An uncanny silence followed the destruction and Izar's body quivered with fatigue. His attention was on the Death Eaters slowly beginning to stand. With his magic-sensitivity, he could see their dim magical cores, but they still possessed magic and it would eventually heal to full power. There was just enough magic in their cores to make one solid Apparation before they likely blacked out. Izar had destroyed the invention just in time.

"_Retreat_!" Voldemort yelled from behind Izar.

The burn in his Mark was back but Izar paid it no heed. He continued to stare numbly at the invention, unable to believe that it had almost been operational.

"Come, child," a hand snaked around his waist, pulling at him. "_You, _specifically, must come."

Izar barely resisted, feeling a spark of familiarity with the man despite the alien body. A large part of him just wanted to collapse and have Voldemort take care of him. It had been a long month. But it was an even longer night ahead of him. "Not yet," he whispered, distinctively hearing the painful _cracks _of Disapparating around him. "I have things to attend to before…"

Before? Before what? He went into hiding? It was surreal to him, especially with such a heavy head at the moment.

"I think not," Voldemort argued back, laying his masked forehead against Izar's.

It just occurred to them both that the Dark Lord was shorter in this guise. Izar wondered briefly what face the man was using before he pulled away sharply. "Take care of Rookwood," Izar ordered lightly before he stepped back away from Voldemort's beckoning hand. He threw one look at the motionless form of Rookwood before Disapparating.

He had things to do before he crawled in the hole. After all, Yuletide was still a few days away and Izar would not be arriving at the Malfoy Manor before then.

**{Death of Today}**

It had almost been a success.

Izar sat upon the wood table at the Department of Mysteries, staring at the rolls of parchments and the test-generators of the quantity of radiation. All the rolls of parchment had calculations on them. Whether it was trial-and-error or the correct numbers, they all had to be destroyed. Unfortunately, Izar was smart enough to know that destroying the evidence wouldn't be a reassurance that this invention was never built again.

Who knew what Oran had done with the knowledge of the final product? And the boy was still alive—as were the other Unspeakables who worked on the invention. It was another job Izar needed to complete before Yuletide. It would stain his hands of blood, but Izar couldn't find himself to feel pity for his targeted victims. In fact, he was _delighted _with the hunt.

But now, Izar was trying to calm himself as he sat at the Ministry. He wouldn't have long before Rufus sent men around Britain looking for him.

He stared at the Department, wondering if this was the last time he would see it. Now that he was a wanted criminal, would he have to be cooped up at the Dark Lord's base at all times besides raids?

No.

He wouldn't allow himself to hide. In fact, baiting Rufus with his constant appearance in public would most likely be a good pastime. And who knew? Maybe Undersecretary Riddle could come up with a solution to clear his name?

It was doubtful, but Izar wouldn't let his warrant for arrest get in the way of his life. He had unfinished business to attend to. And that didn't involve hiding under Voldemort's protection.

Izar picked up the sound of footsteps approaching him from behind. Turning sharply, Izar held up his wand, only to see Owen Welder holding up his hands in surrender. "Reassure me, please," Izar whispered coolly. "That you did not come here to foolishly stop me."

"No," Owen denied with a shake to his head. "I just wanted to confirm my suspicions."

"Suspicions?" Izar repeated thickly. "Suspicions about what?"

Owen appeared far more lethargic than Izar had ever seen him. "That the invention Rufus had my Unspeakables create really destroyed someone's magic." The Head Unspeakable bowed his head, an angry and disgusted light to his eye. "You don't need to answer that. I already know the answer."

Izar studied the man before sliding off the table. "Why did you allow this? Not only the invention but the sheer _invasion _of the Department?" His boots made a soft _clink _against the black stone floor as he approached Owen.

The large man didn't appear frightened of Izar's approach, only mournful. "What was I supposed to do? He's the Minister."

"You can take a stand. That's what you can do. It's your Department. They are your Unspeakables." Izar came to a stop before the burly man. He made sure Owen was looking at him in the eye before offering the man an intense stare. "Contact me when you want your Department back, Owen. Under Rufus' rule, you will never see the return of the old Department of Mysteries. I can guarantee that."

Like he did with Sirius, Izar planted the seed of doubt and deep consideration. The Black heir then turned his back on Owen, staring at the room he tried hours to throw the Unspeakables off-track with his mother. Would he ever see Lily again? Face to face?

"Until then," Izar broke the heavy silence, keeping his attention on the room. "I suggest you quickly leave this room. We wouldn't want the Head Unspeakable going up in flames, eh?"

"How will I contact you?" Owen spoke just as Izar was about to raise his wand to ignite the room.

Izar smiled thinly, knowing he would eventually snag the Unspeakables for either Undersecretary Riddle or Lord Voldemort. Izar must admit, he was rather good at swaying others. Perhaps that's what his new task should be from now on?

"You're a smart man, Owen. I'm sure you can figure out a way…"

Izar slashed his wand through the air, fire escaping the tip. It started small, catching on the paper parchment. Eventually, it would make its way to the more explosive items in the room. And Izar would stay until he made _sure _the whole room and part of the Department was destroyed.

"Do you need assistance leaving the Ministry undetected?" Owen questioned in true concern.

The young wizard chuckled lowly, throwing a look at his boss over his shoulder. "_That _is an insult, Mr. Welder."

**{Death of Today}**

Izar's steps were hurried as he made his way through St. Mungo's and toward his father's room. He had thrown off his Unspeakable robes to his simple shirt and slacks beneath while tying a piece of cloth over his burning Dark Mark. He had little time to disappear before the public was aware of his warrant.

"We're leaving," Izar announced boldly, entering Regulus' room. His father appeared startled at Izar's appearance.

The man's charcoal eyes danced across Izar's torn clothes before jumping back to his son's face. "Leaving?" Regulus repeated rather distantly. "What do you mean?"

Izar pressed his palms into Regulus' mattress, leaning closer to his father. "I have been found out as a Death Eater," he murmured. "It won't take long until Britain is aware of my warrant. I want to take you and Aiden with me in hiding. They will likely come after you for questioning, I don't—"

He paused when something similar to devastation washed across Regulus' face. "Izar," his father whispered hoarsely. "I'm not coming with you."

Izar pulled away as if he had been burned. "Excuse me?"

Regulus leaned back against his pillows, his face hollow with the shadows of the past. "You seem… almost happy that you are on the run, Izar. There is the same insanity in your eyes that Bellatrix had when she found out she was a wanted criminal. Both of you long for something that is not _healthy_. This is a short war, Izar. It will be over before you realize it. Before you realize what you sacrificed to support it."

Izar stood rooted on the spot, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Regulus offered Izar a wretched smile. "You once had a long life in front of you, Izar. But what life do you have now? I'm sure the evidence is overwhelming against your favor. You don't realize what a hard life it is to always hide and run." His father sighed, frowning at his son. "You look as if I'm slowly murdering you, my son. I love you. I will always love you."

"You're speaking as if you don't support our cause anymore," Izar accused numbly.

"I don't," Regulus admitted softly. "I have never felt happier than I do now. I no longer have a Master to answer to. Despite just being Marked, I have lived my whole life in fear of what _he _would do if he got his hands on me again. Now that I'm useless in his eyes, I'm free to do anything I want without restriction. I can live again. Freely." Regulus tapped his fingers helplessly against his sheets as he gazed at Izar. "You have no idea what you sacrificed for a man who will never appreciate it."

Izar took a step back, his chest heavy with rejection. "You're betraying me?" his voice came out small, almost pitiful to his ears.

The charcoal eyes of Regulus widened comically. "No. _No._ Never _you_. I don't support Dumbledore or the Ministry, Izar. I'm still _Dark_, just… I just don't serve _him._"

A small part of Izar knew it was selfish of him to be angry at Regulus. His father deserved every ounce of happiness he could get his hands on from the horrible past he experienced. But at the moment, Izar felt betrayed—almost deceived. Not angry. How could Regulus make him believe he supported the Dark Lord and then turn his back on his allegiance? If anything, Izar needed his father now more than ever. Only, it seemed as if Regulus was so far out of his reach.

Unable to form any coherent accusations without hurting Regulus, Izar turned his back on his father and made his way out of the hospital room.

"_Izar_!"

Regulus' desperate call sounded painfully similar to Sirius'. Though, whereas Sirius' call amused him, Regulus' plea only sent a sharp pain through his chest.

When Izar rounded the corner, he leaned his head against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel Regulus' darkening and miserable aura coming from his hospital room. Although Izar would never be able to see his own aura, he was sure it mimicked his father's in appearance this very moment.

He gained the majority of the Unspeakables as possible allies tonight and he also lost his father's support in the war.

Izar would give anything to reverse that.


	54. Part II Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"Mr. Riddle! Mister Riddle!"

Lucius slithered in the background of the crowd of reporters and photographers, trying in vain to veil his smug smirk. His shifty eyes danced across the bright camera flashes and the reporters' desperate faces as they leaned forward and tried to get the answers their readers wanted to hear. But the most appealing thing, or person, to look at was the disgruntled Undersecretary Riddle. Or… _former _Undersecretary Riddle.

Earlier this morning, Rufus Scrimgeour had finally used his ranking as Minister to reprieve Tom Riddle of his position as the Undersecretary. While the man had the power to relieve Riddle, it could be appealed in court. Rufus had no solid evidence of Riddle's involvement in the war. He released Riddle of his entitlement simply out of suspicion. But no matter how easily it would be to challenge Scrimgeour's order and win the case, Riddle only had the intention to sit back and direct the public with a lazy hand and a few manipulative words.

For this exact move from Scrimgeour was what Riddle had been hoping for. The political portion of the war was now in motion. Riddle would begin to induce doubt in the public's view of Scrimgeour. And shortly, the public would eventually look toward Riddle and the changes he would make to the Britain Wizarding World.

Lucius was just fortunate to be one of the few Death Eaters who knew Lord Voldemort's, or rather Riddle's, true motives. The only others who were aware of Riddle's political motives were Bellatrix Lestrange, Izar Black, and Regulus Black. Those three, including Lucius, were present at Grimmauld Place when Voldemort revealed what he had planned. Though, Bellatrix couldn't care a less about these smooth political maneuvers and there were whispers of Regulus Black straying permanently from the Death Eaters.

The only other to enjoy this stunning spectacle was most likely out of the country. A pity. But understandable. For now.

Lucius found himself grinning despite his qualms of remaining impassive at this public function. Izar Black was truly a remarkable specimen.

For weeks, the boy had been absent from the Death Eater scene. While most of the Death Eaters believed Izar to be traitorous with his endless visits with Lily Potter and her husband, Lucius was—again—granted with inside knowledge from the Dark Lord that Izar's absence was a test of loyalty. And loyalty was exactly what Izar proved only a day ago. Lucius couldn't have been more thrilled with how Izar went about his declaration to the Dark Lord.

If only more men could be as fearless and proud of their loyalties as Izar Black. Izar's choice of exposure certainly pleased the Dark Lord. During the weeks of Izar's absence, Lucius had noted a dramatic peak in the Dark Lord's temper. Nothing had pleased the Dark Lord. Though, yesterday night, after the raid, Voldemort's spirits had most certainly been lifted.

Lucius' respect for Izar had only heightened with last nights' events. He had been inside the Unspeakable contraption when it had activated. He had felt his magic weaken to dangerous levels and felt the pure exhaustion leak through his bones and his pride and honor slowly dissolve into nothingness. Lucius knew what the invention had intended and he also knew, that if it had succeeded, he would have never been able to live with himself.

It was horrifying to know that the enemy knew how to construct a contraption that would take away a wizard's magic. Though, Lucius found himself unable to fret over it too much. The Dark Side had the one wizard that knew everything about the invention while also possessing the knowledge to _stop _it.

Lucius remembered kneeling on the cold ground inside the contraption, horror washing through his veins. At that moment, he had never felt as disgraceful as he did then. He had kneeled there, yelling from the shock of not feeling… not feeling that comfortable weight of power and magic. Through slit eyes, he had only… Merlin—he had _pleaded _for Izar or the Dark Lord to stop the invention somehow.

For the first few hours following the incident, Lucius couldn't recollect what happened simply because he had been ashamed of his disgraceful behavior. Looking back on it now, Lucius could only marvel at how beautiful Izar appeared in his determination to destroy the invention.

"How do you feel about Minister Scrimgeour's decision to prosecute your position as Undersecretary? And do you plan to challenge it?"

Lucius drew his attention back on the present, watching in intrigue as Tom Riddle finally came to a stop before the herding reporters. Riddle appeared frazzled ad almost drained to the ignorant eye. Others would see the predatory and sharp light omitting from beneath those charmed brown eyes.

With a weathered hand, Riddle disarrayed his peppered hair. "It's upsetting to be out of an office I served faithfully for many years," Riddle responded in a controlled voice. Around him, the crowd seemed to lean in further, entranced with the mere mechanism Riddle possessed. "Throughout the years I have served, I have had nothing but the Ministry's best interests at heart. Not only the Ministry, but also Britain and its people."

A very skilled side-step to the question in answer. Lucius knew Riddle would avoid the second half of the reporter's question. Already, the reporters most likely have forgotten it themselves.

Riddle took off his glasses and began to rub the lenses with a handkerchief. "Despite my faithfulness to the Ministry, I have to express my relief of being released from working alongside Rufus Scrimgeour."

This caused an array of new questions, all with different takes, but Riddle remained looking down nonchalantly as he cleaned his glasses. Lucius sniffed, leaning casually against a far pillar and watching the events unfold. This would be history. And he would remember each and every detail.

"When Rufus Scrimgeour was elected Minister," Riddle began again, silencing the reporters. "I was looking forward to the changes he would make within the Ministry. The Wizarding World needs to evolve with the ever-changing times. For many decades we have had the same policy, the same beliefs, and the same laws in place. I would have thought Scrimgeour would be the man who could change our Ministry for the better."

All lies of course. Lucius' belly warmed with suppressed amusement. Riddle knew _exactly _what kind of man Scrimgeour was, which was why the Dark Lord had all but placed Rufus in the Minister chair himself.

Riddle cocked his head to the side, finally finishing with his lenses and placing them back upon his nose. With a renowned intensity, the ex-Undersecretary met eyes with the circle of reporters. "Alas, Scrimgeour has only reversed the Ministry and created more corruption within its Departments. Rufus Scrimgeour may have been an outstanding Auror, but he will never be a successful leader of our society. His only goal is to destroy this army of Death Eaters. He's going about it the wrong way."

_Very nice._ Riddle had expressed Scrimgeour's weakness with subtly. Riddle preached that Rufus was a decent Auror and would _only _be that Auror. Not a politician.

"And how would you suggest Minister Scrimgeour go about improving his methods?" a reporter challenged.

"With all due respect," Riddle began airily. "I think it would be impossible for Minister Scrimgeour to consider any other method but brute force." Riddle shook his head with a charming smile. "This army of Death Eaters only responds to Minister Scrimgeour's brute force with double the intensity. I do not think they will lessen their attacks on Muggles and wizards without a sort of compromise."

This made most of the reporters pause in shock before their quick-quills scratched swiftly on their pads. Lucius nodded once, impressed with Riddle's light subtly.

"Compromise? With terrorists?" One reporter demanded, their expression morphed into surprise and disgust.

The man's reaction was to be expected. The public would be in indignation over Riddle's supposed idea of compromise. But when Rufus continued to prove himself inefficient, the public would begin to see that his methods were not working and then turn to Riddle as a last resort. A _brilliant _scheme on the Dark Lord's part.

Riddle only blinked at the reporter with sympathy. "I do not support the Death Eater's way of voicing their opinions. I do not like the killings or the destruction. However, I think it would be prudent to compromise with some of their demands. Within reason, of course. A compromise with them would never put Britain in jeopardy and it would also stop these raids and the deaths of our loved ones and children."

"And what makes you believe that the Death Eaters would agree to a compromise?" a woman asked in the front row.

An amused chuckle escaped from Riddle as he began to maneuver out of the Ministry and away from the reporters. "The Death Eaters are over-dramatic. They just want their voice to be heard."

It was the end of _this _interview. Lucius knew there would be more interviews to come. The press were interested in this new take and the public would like to hear more about this 'outrageous' view on the war. At the moment, Rufus was still hanging onto the public's favor by his fingernails. Within a few more raids and major losses, Riddle's ideas would be put into motion.

"Izar Black," someone shouted at Riddle's turned back.

Almost taking his own leave, Lucius paused, curiously gauging the Dark Lord's reaction. The blond knew the Dark Lord didn't fault Izar for revealing himself as a Death Eater, but Lucius believed that the Dark Lord did not _like _the fact that _his _Death Eater was on the run—away from him.

Riddle's shoulders stiffened marginally and there was possessiveness in his stare as he turned to the bold reporter. "What of Izar Black?" Riddle murmured softly, dangerously. A bit of the Dark Lord peeked through at the possible threat posed toward his favorite Death Eater.

The woman had the grace to appear ashamed but her craving for a good story made her continue with the questioning. "He is a wanted criminal for joining the ranks of the Death Eaters. Many Aurors and Unspeakables witnessed his betrayal first-hand at last night's attack. I know he hasn't been your political heir for very long, but what do you think about his involvement with the Death Eaters?"

"Children are very impressionable," Riddle whispered softly in response. "Izar Black experienced Minister Scrimgeour's poor leadership firsthand and most likely decided he wanted to take a stand against the Minister's deceit and join the Death Eaters. I know Izar. He's a very intelligent young man. He would never join a cause without knowing the consequences beforehand." Riddle held up a hand as questions arouse again. "That is all."

Lucius watched Tom Riddle depart and anticipated Izar's attendance at Yuletide. It would certainly tickle the Dark Lord and raise the man's mood. It wouldn't be a very enjoyable Yuletide with an impossible Lord.

The blond knew there would be Ministry officials watching the gates of Malfoy Manor, which was why he sent Izar a Port-key for admittance directly into the Manor.

He had yet to hear a response. But he knew Izar rather well and believed the boy wouldn't pass up a chance at making an entrance.

**{Death of Today}**

_I_zar stood in front of the window, staring numbly across the snowy landscape of the Black Manor in Scotland. He couldn't see much of the scenery past the thick frost encrusted on the window. The morning sun caught the thicker shards of ice and reflected strongly off them, making it almost unbearable for Izar to look at.

Today was the day Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy opened their home to political guests and supporters of the Dark Lord. They most likely had House-elves dusting every inch of the Manor and polishing every golden door handle and candle-stick holder. Today was also the day Izar could finally come in contact with the Dark Lord. There were many things Izar wanted to discuss with Voldemort. And there was also… just that guilty pleasure of wanting to be _near _the man and his bloody arrogance.

Izar breathed deeply, squinting into the window. The past two days had been most eventful with murders, threatening, and sleuthing. Izar had personally visited all the Unspeakables who had a hand in the invention minus Lily and Conner Oran. Izar would leave Oran for last, wanting the boy to feel frightened for his life when he heard of his coworkers' deaths.

Out of the seventeen Unspeakables who worked on the invention, twelve were killed by his hand and four had impressed Izar enough with their reassurance that they would never consider creating one again. Those four had survived with only a warning that Izar would be watching.

The other?

"Did you sleep well?" Izar murmured, facing the window in order to hide his growing smirk.

Behind him, a sharp intake of breath sounded. Izar's sharp ears could easily pick up the frantic heartbeat in the woman's chest. She had been the last Unspeakable he visited last night. Elizabeth Spenelli, a pretty Mudblood with black hair and shocking blue eyes.

Izar's goal had been to destroy as many as the Unspeakables as he could within the shortest time frame. If Izar had been any slower in killing the Unspeakables, the Ministry would have relocated the rest of the group and put a ridiculous amount of protection layers around their location. It was a headache Izar hadn't wanted to deal with, hence the reason he finished his hunt yesterday.

It had been far too late when he arrived at Elizabeth's home. With the late—or early—hour, he hadn't been able to think clearly as she cried hysterically and begged him not to kill her. So, he brought her here to sleep on the decision of either sparing her life or killing her.

Sad thing was…he hadn't slept a wink. The _Prophet _arrived with Riddle's statement of being removed as Undersecretary and Izar had been mulling over it since. He had been mulling over _many _things the past day or so. Regulus included. And Aiden.

After the leaving St. Mungo's that night after the raid, Izar had traveled to Grimmauld to pack a few things, mainly the Horcruxes he was working on and anything else worth saving. Aiden had informed Izar that the 'red-eyed' man had come over that morning when Izar was at the Ministry. Apparently, Voldemort had forcibly induced a vision from Aiden in order to see hazy glimpses of the attack that would come to pass.

Inducing visions from Seers were incredibly painful for the Seer in question. Izar had fumed silently at Voldemort when Aiden confessed what had happened with dry blood stained on his shirt as evidence to his bloody nose. The Dark Lord would _never _lay a hand on Aiden like that again. If done too much, Aiden's mind could collapse in on itself. Plus, the boy was _his_, not Voldemort's.

Nonetheless, Izar had apologized to Aiden for not being there and promptly began packing. Upon watching Izar pack, Aiden broke down in tears and _begged _Izar not to leave. The boy claimed it would be the last time he would see him if he left. Izar had barely batted a lash at the confession, pushing Aiden away in order to make a clean departure.

Looking back on it now, Izar wondered if it really would be the last time he would see the sniffling brat. And if it was the last time he saw Aiden, would it be the last time he saw his father?

No matter how much Izar wanted his father's presence with him, he knew this was for the best. Regulus had been in hiding for the better part of his life. His father deserved to live a relatively normal life. And at least _one _Black needed to keep up appearances. Still, Izar pondered on Regulus' sudden turn of opinion and his sudden good mood that seemed far too bright considering the consequences of his condition.

Izar breathed deeply to control his temper. With his hands clasped behind his back, Izar glared into the ice crystals.

Severus Snape. The man had been digging and rearranging things in Regulus' mind during his recovery. Izar had no idea what was said between the two, what was done, and what transpired. But if there was someone to blame, it would be Snape. And Izar had every intention of confronting the man at Yuletide.

"I slept as best as I could, considering the circumstances," the woman behind him started, startling Izar from his musings.

"Meaning?" Izar drawled wearily. There was a throbbing migraine at his temple. He shouldn't be here, standing with her at a time like this. He was exhausted, angry, and impatient. His decision regarding her fate would be biased. Unless, of course, he found a semblance of tolerance in the next few seconds.

Which was highly unlikely.

"The door was locked. The window was locked. I couldn't even go to the _restroom_. How do you think I slept?" she forced out through clenched teeth. "I know very well why you kidnapped me."

Izar finally turned away from the window and eyed her. She was sitting down at the large breakfast table, food laid untouched in front of her. Izar hadn't eaten either. The House-elf staying at the Scotland Black Manor had prepared it for the both of them. Luckily, Izar had been able to enter the Black Manor without resistance. Apparently Regulus was still allowing Izar to dabble in both the Black properties and vaults despite his reluctance to support the war. Not that Izar would stay here for very long…

"Oh?" Izar muttered, slowly approaching her. "And why do you think I have kidnapped you?"

Her blue eyes were incredibly light, bringing attention to the sharp and intelligent glimmer beneath the surface. There was redness in the whites of her eyes and the tender skin around her lashes was swollen and tender. She had been crying last night but this morning there was no trace of tears. Instead, she lifted her chin stubbornly. She was a woman in her late thirties, early forties. She was very attractive in his eyes despite her dirty blood.

"You want assistance with constructing another invention for _them_, the Dark." Her upper lip curled and aggressive aversion entered her eyes. "I'd rather die than help your lot."

Her answer was all he needed. The refusal was geared toward her dislike for the Dark, not the invention itself. All the others Izar had spared had spoken against the invention, not the Death Eaters. In fact, they hadn't even expressed repugnance toward the Dark Wizards or anything remotely similar. There was nothing but shame in their replies for what they created. They had been overwhelmed and frightened of the power they wielded.

"Lizzy, Lizzy…" Izar whispered, clicking his tongue in disproval. He leaned against the table next to her, reaching out to trace her sharp cheekbone. Izar smiled thinly as she tried to pull her head away, but he held steady fast. "Do you have a husband? Children, perhaps?"

"I'm not telling you _anything_," she spat.

Izar bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's your loss I suppose," he murmured tiredly. "I wanted to know who to send my condolences to."

Before she could utter another word, Izar pointed his wand at her and cast the Killing Curse. Her lithe body slumped forward in the chair before spilling out onto the floor. Izar blinked as he spied her bladder muscles release, sending the pungent odor of urine across the room.

She really had needed to use the restroom… Obviously, he was a _terrible _host.

He straightened from the table and crossed the dining area and toward his bedroom. He would have the House-elf dispose of her body shortly. In the meantime, he needed to solve the mystery that was the Horcrux. With his magic-sensitivity, he wondered if he would have an advantage with solving the properties of the fake Horcrux.

It took Izar weeks to finally get the Dark Magic to enter the rat and not kill it. But the Dark Art curses and charms were rather hot-tempered and didn't enjoy staying in a confined space with each other without causing malfunctions. Something else was needed and he could not calculate the exact solution.

Izar entered his room and opened his trunk, all the while, ignoring Nagini and her instance of being pet. His magic-sensitivity could already pick up the failed invention without seeing it. It felt greasy, Dark, and incredibly angry. Exactly what a Horcrux should appear like, but it needed _more. _It needed more intensity and it needed to be a bit alluring to draw its victims closer. The Light Wizards who searched for it should feel their emotions aroused by the Horcrux. They needed to feel uncomfortable with the intensity of the Dark Magic.

But what? What spell or charm could create such intensity? What could make the Dark Curses all merge together as one and complete the Horcrux?

Izar grabbed the cage that housed the rat and held it closer for inspection. In Izar's eyes, the magic swirled around the rat, cloaking it in shadows. He could clearly see the battle between the Dark Curses and wondered what would make them _stop_ chewing each other up and causing mishap.

Light spells wouldn't work. They would be easily overpowered by the strong Dark Magic within the diminutive space.

Unless, of course, it was a powerful Light spell or sacrifice. Like a soul. Or love. Or…

Or life force.

Izar crossed his legs, suddenly eager. Offering the invention his life force _could _work. And he didn't even need to drain all of his life force inside the invention; just a small volume of energy was needed from Izar. And with time, his life force would replenish with enough food and sleep. If he were human, creating seven Horcruxes would likely kill him if he drained his energy inside each one. But considering he was forever dead, it would just weaken him—possibly make him tired for a few hours, perhaps days.

There were spells that wizards could cast on victims that were on the verge of death. Spells that would transfer some of their life—or energy—into the dying loved one. It would revive the dying victim long enough to get medical attention.

A rather Light Charm for him, but it would be necessary in order to complete the fake Horcrux.

Izar set down the rat, suddenly feeling more confident and eager than he had in ages. _"Oh, Nagini, precious," _he hissed with delight. _"Come here." _

**{Death of Today}**

"_I feel odd…tingly, almost. My scales haven't fallen out, have they?" _

Izar stirred from his slumber at the infuriating hissing sounding directly next to his ear.

"_Wake up, you foolish _human_. What did you _do _to me this time? I have been eyeing this spectacular rat for hours, waiting patiently for my meal and all you've been doing is lying there uselessly. Get him out of this cage—"_

"_Silence!" _Izar hissed darkly. His eyebrows furrowed as he slowly blinked open his eyes. With a quick look around his surroundings, Izar closed his eyes shut, reminding himself again why it was necessary to give his life force away. At the moment, he couldn't seem to come up with a valid reason why this was necessary. He felt like bloody shit.

"_Good, you're awake," _her tone of voice quieted with concern and a forked tongue ventured out and tickled the skin above his eyebrow.

Izar sighed, allowing the foolish snake her chance of comforting him while he remembered the events leading up to his blackout. Nagini had survived the merge of multiple Dark Curses, only expressing that she was nausea. If serpents could even get nausea, that is. After which, Izar continued with the ritual and drained a small amount of his life force inside her. He hadn't even been able to see the results before promptly falling unconscious.

Now that he was lying on the floor, focused, he could sense Nagini like a beacon. His magic-sensitivity aided him in feeling the allure and the overwhelming darkness, but if he hadn't been magic-sensitive, the results would have been the same—only muted. She was perfect. And the Light would mistake her for a real Horcrux. Izar made certain that he triggered a self-sacrificing curse within Nagini. Once someone attempted to kill her, they would find themselves destroyed in turn.

Self-satisfaction curled in Izar's belly, but he couldn't feel much more than that due to his drowsiness.

Izar grumbled, pushing at Nagini to move her away from his face. With drowsy eyes, he surveyed the room before his attention landed on the darkening sky.

Alarm washed through him. He scrambled up, only to brace himself against the wall as the world spun. Scrunching up his face, he tried to calm his nausea, feeling something akin to vile steadily crawl up his throat. Immortals didn't throw up, did they?

It was already late evening, meaning, he was overdue at Malfoy's Yuletide gathering. Now that his mind was a bit sharper, he could feel a steady burn in his Dark Mark. It wasn't fierce nor was it painful; it was almost as if Izar's tardiness was a rising inconvenience for the Dark Lord. The man was not yet angry, but it would steadily get to that point. A small part of Izar played with the idea of arriving at the Malfoy Manor tomorrow just to get Voldemort's bloody knickers in a bundle.

Ignoring Nagini's hiss of displeasure as he nudged her with the toe of his boot, Izar made his way to his trunk. He needed to prepare himself for the gathering. Dusty and grimy robes would certainly not _do. _

After what seemed like a sluggish hour, Izar struggled with leaving the shower and dressing. He stood in front of the full-length mirror, trying to adjust his cloak. He had chosen these robes with tonight in mind. Not only would he need confidence when he faced the scrutinizing Death Eaters, but he would be presenting Voldemort with Nagini. Choosing robes was such a petty worry, but he had to admit, the black high-collared robes with red trimming certainly looked… becoming. Far better than the white robes Voldemort constantly made him wear.

He ran a hand through his black waves, smirking as he sauntered back to his trunk. _"You need to get back in your cage," _Izar hissed at Nagini as he searched for the Port-key Malfoy owled him.

"_I think not," _the serpent replied, miffed. _"No attention for _days_ and you expect me to go in that cramped cage?" _

Her haughtiness was getting ridiculous. With his exhaustion, he didn't know how long he could deal with her before he snapped. _"You'll be meeting your Master tonight. I don't want anyone else seeing you." _Izar drew out the silver chain from the top of his trunk and eyed it critically when he saw the magic glimmering around it in calm waves. Such an expensive thing for being a simple Port-key.

He couldn't imagine anything less from the Malfoys.

Nagini hissed grumpily as her long frame slowly made its way into Izar's trunk. _"I expect he'll be a far better caretaker than you," _she quipped.

Izar gave a distracted hum, slamming the trunk shut as soon as she was inside. "Don't worry," he murmured. "You two will hit it off splendidly." Either the Dark Lord's and Nagini's personalities clashed or the Dark Lord would simply coddle the irritating serpent because they were so compatible. Though, thinking about it now, Izar was sure the Dark Lord would do his usual taming and turn Nagini into a submissive pile of goo.

He surveyed the dark and empty room, thinking back to last Yuletide when Regulus accompanied him. This year, Izar would be alone, fending for himself. He just hoped his drain of energy wouldn't make him slow to any threats or snide comments.

Taking a deep breath, Izar clutched the handle of his trunk with one hand and his wand and Port-key with the other. Tapping it once, the Black Manor fell away from him as he was pulled through time and space.

The impact on the ground made his knees bend, but otherwise, he remained standing tall. Slowly, he allowed his senses to see the room before he opened his eyes.

In the corner, he could hear a grandfather clock, ticking away the seconds. The warmth from the fireplace on his right caught his attention as did the heartbeat across from him. Upon Izar's arrival, the pulse grew quicker, more excited. But otherwise, the man across from Izar remained motionless and silent.

"Lucius," Izar whispered in greeting, opening his eyes to see the Head of the Malfoy Family sitting regally in an armchair.

They were alone in the parlor with the thick Persia rug beneath his feet and the wet bar standing across the room and below a gold-crusted mirror. Upon setting down his trunk, it disappeared, presumably going to his room. Izar didn't worry too much. The wards around his trunk would create a nasty surprise for anyone foolish enough to try to tamper with it.

Izar pocketed his wand under Lucius' smug eyes, slowly walking to the wet bar. He glanced at the hard liquor, feigning interest but having no intention of drinking anything. "Should…," he trailed off and placed the ice cube tongs back in the chilled bucket before continuing. "Should I feel flattered that you're neglecting your other guests just to await my tentative arrival?" he asked cheekily.

"I knew you would come," Lucius responded with pleasure. "The Dark Lord is otherwise clueless to your arrival. A small surprise for him, I suppose."

"The Dark Lord is _never _clueless, Lucius," Izar reprimanded lightly. "Nor does he get as excited over surprises as you or me." Izar finally turned away from the ice cubes that rivaled the appearance of diamonds more than frosted ice.

The glamor and glitz of the Malfoy Manor brought a sense of calm to Izar. He was among men who put up fronts and thrived on manipulation and betrayal. Here, he couldn't get emotionally upset if someone chose to back away from the war. Because, even though Izar wanted Regulus to remain happy, his father _was _putting a large burden on Izar's shoulders. If the Dark Lord found out about Regulus' refusal to even _support _the Dark, Izar would need to intervene before Voldemort could cause damage. Regulus already betrayed the Dark Lord once. When his father said he would remain neutral, he'd better sit back and keep his damned mouth closed.

Lucius, especially, was a breath of tranquil. Malfoy was someone Izar enjoyed being around. The man's personality was like bloody gold.

"I believe you're correct," Lucius replied. "Conversely, all of us will be more comfortable in the Dark Lord's presence once you've made an appearance."

Izar raised his eyebrows. "Meaning?"

A cruel and amused smile warped Lucius' mouth. "Those five weeks of your absence was absolutely strenuous on the Death Eaters. They might like to agree otherwise, but they know, just as well as I, that the Dark Lord was far more eager to hand out punishments. At first, I was bemused as to the root of the problem, but then I found the common variable. You and your absence was what made the Dark Lord almost unhinged."

The man was challenging him on his relationship with Voldemort. And while the man was certainly correct, Izar's expressionless mask never faltered. "Interesting that you would think the Dark Lord was unstable, Lucius. Don't you agree that our Lord has every right to hand out punishments to the followers who slip up?" he countered.

Lucius only smiled thinly in response. The man appeared even more regal today dressed in a black suit with a matching flowing satin cloak around his shoulders. His long blond hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, bringing attention to his ice-like features. The cold grey eyes could have fooled many people, but Izar could easily spy the warm glow within them.

"You're as presentable as ever. Energized, sharp, and incredibly striking," Lucius murmured as he swept his own eyes down the length of Izar before looking at his face. "But your eyes tell me another story."

Izar offered a small, elegant shrug. "Sleep on the run doesn't come very easily, Lucius."

Lucius stood from his armchair, slowly approaching Izar. "Come; let me escort you to the back of the house."

Izar allowed the hand on his shoulder to guide him toward the backyard where he knew the Death Eaters were present. "Reassure me," Izar began as they zigzagged through a few corridors before approaching the familiar door Izar remembered from last year. A few more paces and they would be outside. "The Death Eaters still want me dead, yes?"

Lucius offered Izar a quick stare. "They believed you betrayed the Dark Lord. Much like your father has for a second time." At the mention of Regulus, Lucius' expression darkened. "Not all the Death Eaters can be graced with my intelligence. Most of us believe you are loyal to boot. While others let their jealousies rule their beliefs. They'd stab you in the back once you let down your guard."

"Good," Izar replied cheerfully. "Anything else would be out of the norm."

The blond raised an amused eyebrow before letting Izar's shoulder go and nodding toward the Third Tier Death Eater guarding the door. The Death Eater cocked his head to the side in cool greeting as he stepped away to allow Lucius entrance. Malfoy went through the door first before holding the door open for Izar. The latter never hesitated as he stepped through the threshold, eager to be back where he belonged.

The theme this year was obviously fire, water, and ice. Small fountains and streams were set up around the expansive gazebo with blue and red flames dancing above the water, mending together to create an exotic purple. Ice sculptures were the center pieces of the separate tables, the beads pooled at their bases different colored gems. The rich food was already served, its warm and succulent aroma wafting through the heated backyard. Small ice-like vessels were stylishly carved and hung near the tent's ceiling with petite flames lit inside to offer a dim illumination for the guests.

Just like last year, the floor plan of the backyard was split into three levels to show the hierocracy. The upper level, draped with black tables and chairs, housed the Dark Lord and his exclusive Inner-Circle. The landing Izar was currently standing upon was reserved for the Second Tier and further along there were three steps that led to the Third Tier Death Eaters.

"Ridiculously impressive as ever," Izar murmured quietly to Lucius.

The blond nodded once. "I will be sure to pass on your compliments to Narcissa."

"_Izar!" _

Izar turned just in time to open his arms to grudgingly steady both himself and Daphne. He was stiff and rigid as her thin arms squeezed around his torso. Thankfully, she abruptly let go, not wanting to draw any more attention than she already had. The small witch gazed up at Izar, a soft smile settling across her glossed lips. "I've missed you so much," she whispered for his ears only.

Daphne hadn't been a constant in his thoughts during the last few weeks. In fact, the last time his attention had only been on Daphne was during the Ministry ball, right before Rufus Scrimgeour had been elected Minister. However, he found himself surprisingly content to see her. A year ago, Izar would have never thought he would find his classmates' presence welcome.

"And you know I missed you just as much," Izar reassured her, placing his hands on her slim shoulders. He could feel Lucius breathing down his neck and considered the man's hovering. It was grating.

Daphne's smile dimmed as she also noticed Lucius' lingering. "Is Izar needed elsewhere?" she reached out to caress Izar's robes before pulling his weight in the direction of the Third Tier platform. "Because the others are looking forward to speaking to him." She flashed a charming smile at Lucius. Izar knew it to be conniving. "You wouldn't deny Draco a chance with Izar, would you?"

Lucius placed his hand on Izar's shoulder, pulling him against Daphne's pull. Izar grimaced, not finding it particularly pleasing to be caught in the middle of this. Especially when they were standing front and center of the other Death Eaters' stares. Because of this, Izar remained emotionless, the tightening around his mouth the only evidence of his true feelings about being fought over.

"I'm afraid the Dark Lord has already laid claim on Izar's attention, Ms. Greengrass." Lucius replied smoothly. At the mention of the Dark Lord, Daphne reluctantly let Izar's robes go. "After which, I'm sure you and my son will have more than enough time with him."

Izar could feel the eyes on them. One pair of eyes, in particular, were making his skin prickle. His stomach clenched hotly as he thought about being near the Dark Lord once again. The man and his arrogance and unreserved charm. Izar reluctantly admitted that he missed the man's overwhelming presence and demanding challenges, though, he would never admit it out loud. Izar needed someone to verbally spar with once again. And only Voldemort could fill in that position.

"You promise?" Daphne leaned closer, ignoring Lucius in favor of Izar.

He detangled himself from both her and Lucius. "You have my word," Izar responded, appeasing her. She attempted to smile, but something deeper than being denied his presence shifted beneath her eyes. He considered her briefly, but before he could make any conclusions, Lucius brushed past him, urging him to follow.

The walk up to the Inner-Circle platform was much easier than it had been a year ago. He had more confidence now, more assurance of his skills and ability to protect himself. Despite the circumstances surrounding Conner Oran's invention, Izar felt little concern about the Death Eaters' judgment.

Once he closed in on the table, Izar was finally forced to look up, easily meeting the split-crimson eyes. The reaction to seeing Voldemort again was noticeable and rather… disconcerting on Izar's behalf. He quickly looked away from the Dark Lord but not before spotting the smug smirk crossing the man's lips. Little did the man know that Izar could clearly see Voldemort's magic mimic Izar's excitement and arousal. The tension was there, as thick and straining as before.

"Sweet Izar," Bellatrix greeted in a sing-song tone. She patted the empty chair next to her with her long, talon-like nails. "You've finally graced us with your presence. I was worried you were being held back by the Ministry… or your _father_."

Izar offered her a light grin before seating himself. "And pass up the chance of seeing all these handsomely grinning faces?" Izar gave a pointed look around the table at the group of scowling and grimacing Death Eaters. "I think not."

He allowed his attention to settle on the Dark Lord across from him. The man appeared laid back as he leaned fully against his chair, watching the unfolding events with a sharp and critical eye. Though, his attention was focused primarily on Izar. A suspicious and precarious light entered his eyes the longer he stared at the younger wizard. What did the man see? Or think? Izar frowned back at the Dark Lord, wondering what the ever-knowing man knew now.

There were a few things Izar was hiding from Voldemort; the fact that Regulus might know about Izar's creature-status, Lily and all her many secrets, Regulus' wavering support, and the Horcrux with Izar's choice of sacrificing his life force. The Black heir didn't know what Voldemort's thoughts on the latter would be. Either the Dark Lord would find it necessary for destroying a few key members of the Light or he would find it pathetic that Izar was willingly weakening himself.

Despite the _few _things Izar would rather not let the man know, Voldemort had just as much to answer to as well. Such as Aiden's mental attack and the fact that Voldemort hadn't suspended Izar from the Death Eaters just to recover from Regulus' attack, but because he had been testing his loyalty with Rufus. It was insulting to Izar to have his loyalty tested. Hadn't he already given Voldemort everything he had?

Izar let his defiance come forth as he stared back at Voldemort. "My Lord," Izar greeted, reluctantly lowering his eyes in submission for the benefit of the surrounding Death Eaters. Lucius, to Voldemort's right, seemed almost giddy with the excitement secreting from him.

"Izar," Voldemort whispered silkily in return. His long fingers tapped once around the goblet in his hand. "It's good to see you returned to my ranks as unharmed as possible."

Izar scoffed. "It has been a long absence, but a productive leave." With his eyes, he tried to inform Voldemort that he enjoyed his time away from the Death Eaters and it hadn't affected him. The ghost of a smile crossing Voldemort's lips proved that the man didn't believe him.

"Very productive," Evelyn Mulciber repeated Izar's words haughtily. The man was one out of three Inner-Circle members who went to school with Tom Riddle as a boy. Ayers Rosier and Cene Lestrange were the other two left of the original Death Eaters. While Lestrange and Rosier both had children in the Inner-Circle, Mulciber's son was of the lowest ranking. And it made Evelyn sour because of it. "Yes, do tell us about working with the Unspeakables… and the Potters."

"I'm afraid the details of my work would slip past your deprived intelligence," Izar replied darkly. Next to him, Bellatrix chuckled beneath her breath, inching closer to Izar as if to offer him support. But he didn't need it.

Evelyn's jaw clenched hotly, but before he could reply, the normally quiet Ayers Rosier leaned forward. The candlelight hung above his head reflected off his bald head. "I _would _like to know about the invention the Unspeakables created, if you are able to. You were involved as a spy, were you not?" It was asked with simple curiosity, not mockingly. Next to him, the two Lestrange brothers nodded in agreement, their dark eyes mirroring one another in terms of interest.

In fact, Izar was aware of the other Inner-Circle members snap to attention at Ayers' query. He knew this would come to pass. The Death Eaters wanted answers to what happened that night with the Unspeakables.

"I was working to sabotage it, yes, but it was completed behind the scenes without my prior knowledge." He cut out the fact that Rufus had instructed Conner Oran to keep the real status of the invention under wraps. Izar would rather have the Death Eaters be oblivious to Rufus' successful deceit. "As for the invention itself," he continued. "I can't say much about it, as I am under contract to keep silent. But I'm sure those inside the invention at the time know what it's capable of."

"Stripping magic!" Barty Crouch Jr. exclaimed loudly.

Behind Izar, he could feel the sudden stillness of the Second Tier Death Eaters as they overheard. This had been a discussion among the Death Eaters for quite some time, Izar believed. They were worried about it, confused, frightful. Most of them didn't have the exact details of what happened, as they were not inside the invention at the time, but it didn't stop them from fearing what the Unspeakables and the Ministry were capable of.

"I apologize for my outburst, My Lord," Barty continued more quietly. The younger Death Eater leaned closer to Voldemort, his eyes narrowed with concern and blood-lust. "But what's stopping them from constructing another? Now that Black has been exposed as one of us, he cannot keep an eye on the Department."

Voldemort merely offered Crouch a dismissive wave of the hand. The Dark Lord didn't look too worried; then again, nothing ever seemed to upset the man. "I'm sure Mr. Black has it under control. Don't you, child? What, with your activities the past few hours. You've been very busy."

Eyes turned to Izar once again, some disbelieving while others curios. Izar offered Voldemort a withering stare. "I have deposed of the Unspeakables who had a hand in constructing the invention. I also have eyes I can trust watching the Department. They will not be creating another invention like that for a long while."

"And who are these eyes that you trust so much?" Lucius inquired with a hint of suspicion.

Izar shook his head softly, wondering why he even bothered with this lot. He could feel the strain weighing heavily across his body and realized arriving at the Malfoy Manor tonight wasn't his best decision. He was too weak, too strained to deal with all these questions and quires. When he woke up after creating the Horcrux inside Nagini, his enthusiasm had overruled his logic. All that he looked forward to was being with the Death Eaters again—dancing and insulting. Obviously, interacting with them in his state wasn't very _smart_.

And to think that he had to put up with Voldemort after this…

There was no way around speaking to Voldemort. Just by the man's smoldering stare, Izar knew that any excuse would fall upon deaf ears.

Next to him, Bellatrix gave a breathless chuckle, leaning in close and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Her long curls brushed against his cheek. "Come now, Lucius. Izar most certainly isn't speaking about his Mudblood bitch, are you, my dear?"

"_Potter_," one of the Lestrange brothers hissed in disgust.

"Yes, Lily Potter, Izar's beloved and estranged mother. The wife of the notorious Auror, James Potter," Evelyn Mulciber felt inclined to expand with a daring smirk in Izar's direction. "And apparently, the trustworthy eyes we are relying on to alert us if another invention is being made."

Izar picked up a water glass, peering inside the clear liquid in order to calm his soaring and unstable temper. The world spun around him and his vision began to grow blurry around the edges. It didn't help matters that his fingers trembled, causing the water inside the goblet to slosh over the side and stain the table cloth. "I have things under control, Mulciber. I have _her _under control."

"So you say," the man murmured back. "I just find your blind faith in your mother rather…" the man trailed off, contorting his face into that of an ugly grimace. "_Sweet_."

The Black heir chuckled sinisterly as he placed down the water goblet and leaned away from Bellatrix's reach. Pushing away his weakening resolve, Izar focused on being calm and rational. "It's amusing that you believe my mother is my source in the Department of Mysteries. Pity you are so _far_ from the truth." Izar raised his eyebrows, challenging Mulciber with his eyes. "You really thought you had me figured out, didn't you?"

"You insolent brat—"

"While your composure when dealing with a sixteen-year-old impresses me, Mulciber, I grow tired of it." The Dark Lord finally interrupted before Mulciber could continue his tirade. The older Death Eater flushed darkly when his comrades began snickering at his misfortune. Despite Voldemort addressing Mulciber, his eyes were watching Izar closely. "Allow the boy some secrets. I believe he is serving our cause to the best of his ability. Perhaps you can look at him as an example, Mulciber. When was the last time you've done something worthwhile?"

It was one of the only times Voldemort sided with Izar in front of his Death Eaters, his Inner-Circle in specific. While it was exhilarating to have the Dark Lord behind him, Izar felt as if he could fight his own battles. Tonight, with his exhaustion and illness, he may need a push from behind, but he could handle it himself. Nevertheless, it _was _amusing to watch Voldemort cut someone down with humiliation.

"You are free to take your leave," Voldemort addressed Izar from across the table and over the guffaws of the Death Eaters. Despite the way it was worded, Izar knew it was an order. "You and I will be finishing this discussion in private."

And _look_, the man gave himself an excuse to leave the party as well. Perfect.

Izar pursed his lips together, standing gracefully from his chair and bending at the waist. He knew this wasn't his last interaction with the Inner-Circle during the Yuletide celebration. Voldemort most likely sensed Izar's instability and brought the conversation to an end.

With a quick bow, Izar turned his heel and made his way down the steps. He pointedly chose to avert his attention away from the Hogwarts students. There would be more than enough time to speak to them. And hopefully Daphne could read his body language enough to know not to follow him. The Dark Lord would eventually be following, which would further her reluctance to pursue him.

As soon as he entered the Malfoy Manor, Izar snuck behind many corridors until he was away from prying eyes. With the comfort of the shadows, Izar placed his back against the wall and closed his eyes. He allowed himself a few moments of vulnerability. If he was going to face Voldemort, he would need as many stolen minutes of relaxation as he could. He needed to be sharp, observant for this confrontation.

Despite his nausea and fatigue, Izar found true wellbeing here. This was where he belonged and he welcomed every moment of it.

Charmed green and charcoal eyes snapped open when Izar felt the shift in atmosphere. Voldemort had entered the Manor. Straightening from the wall, Izar threw his shoulders back and slowly sauntered down the corridor. As the strong aura advanced, Izar found himself becoming more eager. He could _smell _the Dark Lord's proximity and magic. And suddenly, Izar felt the lingering caress of fingers at the small of his back before Voldemort swooped past him.

If the Black heir hadn't had sharp vision, the Dark Lord would only be a darker shade against the already darkened corridor. Izar considered the tall form just briefly before following at the same pace.

The man led him through the halls of the Malfoy Manor, seemingly bringing Izar to his own assigned chambers. And knowing Lucius, the blond man probably reserved a whole wing for the Dark Lord.

Izar hesitated when Voldemort veered off from the middle of the corridor and disappeared inside a room. The door was left open for Izar, an invitation to follow.

A slow and steady smirk settled across Izar's lips as he confidently walked inside the room.

The door slammed shut behind him.


	55. Part II Chapter 23

_Warning: Grammar mistakes. _

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

As soon as he entered the expansive room, he was abruptly pushed against the wall by Voldemort. Strong arms caged him against the wall on either side of his body, unwavering and unmoving. Izar couldn't wipe the ridiculous grin off his lips as he stared at the looming face of the Dark Lord. The man's eyes were narrowed as they traced every line and curve of Izar's face.

The temptation was too strong. Izar found himself indolently reaching up and brushing his fingertips across Voldemort's cheek. The Dark Lord didn't move away from the caress, instead, his lashes fluttered just briefly before his eyes sharpened. The tension was there, the same static-like sensation dancing and crackling between them. He leaned closer, his lips a mere breath away from Voldemort's. Izar wanted it, but he knew it couldn't be this easy for the man.

With an impish smirk, Izar ducked beneath Voldemort's arm and danced away from the wall. "It's been so long," Izar admitted softly. "I almost forgot that I'm supposed to deny you what you want." He strode toward the end of the room, well aware of the hungry and perceptive eyes watching his every move.

"I don't feel too dismayed about that," Voldemort commented smartly. "Simply because I know you're denying yourself at the same time."

Izar threw a raised eyebrow over his shoulder. "Don't be too sure of that."

Voldemort considered Izar for a lengthy second. "You wanted to impress me tonight," Voldemort guessed assertively. The snake-like eyes assessed his fitting robes of rich and elegant material. "While they flatter you, I would prefer white. You know this, child."

"My, someone is full of themselves tonight," Izar breathed. He turned around fully, finding himself unhealthily enthralled with the man's presence. "I wouldn't do something as silly as trying to impress you by dressing attractively." He was a liar. And they both knew it.

Voldemort offered him a twisted smile in return.

Izar sighed lightly, showing his back to the Dark Lord once again in order to stare at the mahogany table full of luxurious foods and desserts. "He's not serious, is he? Lucius?" Izar inquired, taking another step toward the table full of food. Everything was laid out in precise position. Strawberries were deep ruby, mangos were a sinuous orange, the fruits were plump, and the chocolates were elegantly decorated with rivulets of dark and light drizzles.

"Of course," Voldemort drawled, "only the best for me." He paused for just a moment, as if considering. "Perhaps it would be practical for you to take a leaf from Lucius' book of how to treat me."

The younger wizard scoffed at the idea. "No," he murmured, leaning closer to inspect which dessert appealed to him most. "I only enjoy taking advantage of being so close to you." Izar finally reached for the strawberry and took a greedy bite. "Besides, pampering you would be too much work. Where is the fun in that?"

"Indeed," Voldemort answered dryly. "We wouldn't want you to work too hard."

Izar glanced at the Dark Lord, wondering how he should proceed. The teasing aside, they both had things to address and things to demand and ask. He didn't know what was more agreeable. Teasing Voldemort or arguing. Both were rather thrilling in their own right.

The Black heir turned around fully, putting some of his weight against the table behind him. "I have a gift for you," Izar confessed, putting his strategy in motion. It was better to dangle a prize in front of the Dark Lord before demanding things from him.

Crimson eyes lightened to a blood-red. "Is that so? A Yuletide gift?"

Izar cocked his head in contemplation. "It could be considered a Yuletide gift, but I prefer it to be for your birthday. I know it's at the end of December." He cleared his throat, trying to stifle his amusement. "Eighty this year, correct? Or are you pushing ninety?"

Voldemort remained impassive, not even flinching at the attempted jab. He was still positioned near the wall and didn't seem inclined to move. "I must confess that your cheek and exasperating comments were rather missed," he said in all seriousness. "But don't let that go to your head. It wasn't a compliment by any means, only a statement." Voldemort brushed aside his comment airily, finally pushing off from the wall and approaching Izar slowly.

Izar hoped he controlled his expression in time with Voldemort's raw confession. It was unlike the man to admit something of that vulnerability. Nonetheless, it was greatly desired. They both missed one another's presence. And while they weren't exactly easy to get along with, they were familiar and comfortable with one another. They enjoyed each other's challenges… or… in Izar's case, _attempted _challenges.

"The gift?" Voldemort prompted, successfully turning the conversation around.

"The gift," Izar repeated, snapping himself to attention. "Will be presented to you _after_ we address a few things. Much _needed _things."

Voldemort stopped his advance short, examining Izar closely. Cruel amusement smoldered the man's gaze. "Of _course_, how silly of me to think you were gratified without an issue to bring up."

Izar offered the man a scathing look. "I want to know if _you're_ satisfied." When Voldemort raised his eyebrows in question, Izar expanded. "With my loyalty. I want to know if you're satisfied that I am loyal to you," he demanded contemptuously. "That _test _you put me through with Scrimgeour, it was exceptionally insulting to me. I gave up many things for you and you can't even accept the weight of my sacrifices?"

"It was necessary," Voldemort explained calmly, seemingly blind to Izar's anger over the issue. "But it was not just a test, I can assure you. What we discussed at St. Mungo's after your father's attack was nothing but the truth. You were weak. And I suspended you from the Death Eaters because of it. I do not regret my decision of putting a ban on your involvement and I will do it again if faced with the same consequences."

The statement was a warning disguised as a simple reference. If Izar had another meltdown, Voldemort would pull him out of the army and make him reconstruct himself. It made Izar feel like a petulant child. Hadn't Voldemort's views on Izar changed over the course of the year, if only a little? Izar thought he improved since last year, but perhaps he hadn't.

"I understand that perfectly. What I don't understand is why you went to Scrimgeour and suggested he attempt to manipulate me."

"Attempt?" Voldemort whispered back gleefully. "If I saw things correctly, he succeeded rather well considering his incapacity in regards to subtly."

"I knew damn well he was trying to manipulate me as soon as he switched tactics. And I knew right away that you were the one to hiss in his ear, you bloody bastard," Izar hissed, his vision beginning to blur once again. "The only reason he succeeded is because I underestimated him and Oran. For being hot-headed, Scrimgeour was rather patient and discreet about his plans. But that's only because Dumbledore dipped his gnarly beard in the mix."

Izar breathed deeply, out of habit, to control his rising temper. The angrier he was, the more lightheaded he became. His exhaustion from creating the Horcrux was taking its toll.

"Have I touched a nerve?" Voldemort mused delicately. "It's exactly what I warned you about, isn't it? Just like a kitten… you and your curiosity. Your fascination with people and _things _is not healthy."

Pushing away from the table, Izar began to pace. "You admit that you gave Scrimgeour the idea of manipulating me just to test my loyalties. But then you claim you wanted to teach me a lesson, a lesson that cautioned me that even the most predictable people have surprises up their sleeve." He clasped his hands behind his back, subconsciously running his fingers across the black Celtic band. "So what is it, My Lord? Why, exactly, did you aid Scrimgeour to spite me?"

The Dark Lord slowly sat down on the leather armchair, appearing, as usual, indifferent. "Who said I couldn't have done it for more than one reason? Admittedly, even _I _was surprised at how well wrapped the package was." The man's voice dripped of arrogance. "Not only was I keeping Scrimgeour from throwing you out of the Department of Mysteries a month too early, but I also tested your loyalties, and taught you a valuable lesson."

Izar guffawed, somehow not surprised at the man's attitude toward the situation. "I wonder," he began suspiciously, "If you're actually the type of wizard who does things on the fly without thinking about it. The results just appear as if you've carefully calculated each step and turn. But in reality, you were recklessly going with the tide of events." Izar watched a careful smirk cross the man's mouth. "And of course, at the end of the day, you sit with your tumbler of whiskey and think how you can make it appear as if you planned everything all along."

Voldemort only offered Izar a shake of his head. "I guess you'll never know, child."

"I will," Izar vowed fervently. "Someday… someday I'll know you from the inside out." He took a proceeding step toward Voldemort, continuing before the Dark Lord could convince him otherwise. "But you still haven't answered my question. Are you satisfied of my loyalty?"

For a long moment, Voldemort considered Izar. His longer fingertips tapped against one another near the bottom of his chin. "I think you know the answer to that, child."

Izar came to a stop in front of Voldemort, his knees brushing against those of the other man. The younger stood at his full height, enjoying the awareness of standing in Voldemort's presence while the Dark Lord remained sitting. Naturally, the man made it appear as if _he _had the higher ground despite his current level.

The Black heir leaned forward, placing his hands on either armrest. "I thought I knew the answer to that when I lost my mind to the Dementors for you. If not that, then I thought I knew the answer to that when I gave up my mortality for you. And if those weren't answer enough, perhaps… when I walked away from my family for you." Their faces were inches apart, their eyes unwavering from the other. "I've made many sacrifices for you, sacrifices I know I can _never _take back no matter how much I wish. When will you start to see that I am loyal? That you can trust me?"

Voldemort's strike was as quick as an angered serpent. Lukewarm hands curled sharply around Izar's throat, pulling him close. Izar was forced to look at the wall over Voldemort's shoulder while the man breathed in his scent and brushed his lips across the tender and exposed skin.

"The trust I give you is not the same kind of trust I would give a Death Eater. And your loyalty is by no means comparable to that of a common follower." Teeth nipped his neck, surprisingly not sharp enough to draw blood. "These tests, these sacrifices were necessary. No matter how painful they were for you."

Izar drew away, squeezing the man's wrists painfully until the man let go of his neck. "Do I have your trust?" he repeated boldly.

Voldemort's gaze darkened sinisterly. "Yes."

Despite Izar's small victory at getting Voldemort to admit, they both knew very well that his trust could crumble instantly. There was a warning in Voldemort's eyes, a warning that whispered promises of consequences if Izar was ever to abuse that trust or break it.

The younger wizard had no intention of ever committing that act.

"You're a wanted criminal," Voldemort continued flawlessly as if he hadn't just confessed a vulnerability.

It was obvious the man was uncomfortable with the topic at hand and Izar couldn't blame him. It had been uncomfortable for him to even _ask_, but he needed to know Voldemort's petty tests of loyalty were over. Granted, there would still be challenges, and Izar would look forward to them, but there would no longer be any tests that would insult Izar and his past sacrifices.

"Despite your impressive show of power that night of the attack, you made one grave error."

Izar raised his chin, immediately becoming on guard. "Why would you say that? I had no other choice. It was either divulge my status as a Death Eater or allow most of the Death Eaters to get their magic stripped."

"I'm not talking about your reveal. I'm referring to your hunt afterwards." At seeing Izar's slightly taken aback look, Voldemort smirked menacingly. "You didn't think I was oblivious to your doings, were you? I knew Unspeakables were going missing, dying before the public had the chance to learn of it. You went hunting for those who had a hand in creating the invention. The only problem? You forgot the most important wizard involved."

"_Oran_," Izar spat the name in disgust. "He is of no consequence." He turned his back on the sitting Dark Lord, fully attentive of the calculating glare directed at the back of his head. The man's magic tickled at Izar's senses, both a welcoming nudge and a warning. Always a warning.

"Oran is a pathetic little boy who needs powerful figures like Dumbledore and Scrimgeour to pull him by the hand," Izar tried to defend himself. He hated that he felt flustered at Voldemort's comment. And he hated the real reason why he hadn't killed Conner Oran yet. "He needed the team of Unspeakables to assist him with the invention. He will be too frightened to consider making another."

"You wanted to save him for last," the Dark Lord murmured. "To make him aware of all the deaths of his fellow employees. You needed him to know that he was next. A rather selfish and childish thing to do, Izar. Especially when he was the brains behind the invention." Voldemort called Izar's bluff and he did so effortlessly.

The ridicule was too much. Mainly after all the struggles Izar had to go through by himself, he didn't want to hear Voldemort's opinion on the matter. "Don't patronize me, My Lord," Izar whispered lethally. He faced the Dark Lord, finding little reason to take the man's words to heart. "It is rather hypocritical of you to lecture me about my guilty pleasures. After all, you are the one that has a one-track mind when it comes to torture."

As soon as he said it, Izar realized it wasn't the best thing to say. There were times he could teasingly pick apart Voldemort's weaknesses, but with his tone of voice he had just used, it was incredibly disrespectful. Despite their growing relationship and the trust between them, Izar had to remember that Voldemort _was _a Dark Lord and his Master. There were boundaries he needed to be aware of.

And he just crossed one.

Shadows seemed to hug Voldemort's form as he stood, making the Dark Lord appear taller and more sinister than usual. Izar's magic-sensitivity could pick up the man's aura as it circled around the man in livid waves.

"And _you _will never again patronize _me,_" Voldemort hissed forebodingly.

Izar pursed his lips before turning away in submission. He wondered if Voldemort was only this angry because Izar had pointed out a true weakness. The man most likely believed he didn't have vulnerabilities and refused to have someone shine a light on them.

The subject of Voldemort's fascination with torture also brought up the concerns that Izar had about the war and the future, _their _endless future.

There were manythings he wanted to address with Voldemort, but Izar knew the night was only so long and the Dark Lord was never really patient for long conversations.

"It's true I just wanted him to be frightened of my arrival," Izar admitted quietly. "But I _will_ get to him. I'm sure Lucius can find out where the Ministry is holding Oran. No ward can stop me." It might have been arrogance talking, but now that Izar's magic-sensitivity was back, wards would be easy to peel away and remove.

The dark chuckle from the Dark Lord made Izar snap his head around and glare suspiciously at the man.

"You are humorous, child," Voldemort drawled. "Do you really believe I am going to allow you to leave my protection now that you're a wanted criminal? Your freedom is _gone_. Whenever you leave this Manor or my base, you will need my permission and, essentially, my protection."

And suddenly, the independence and freedom Izar had enjoyed so much this past month was ripped from underneath him. He was in Voldemort's webbing again, a web that enclosed four sturdy walls around him and prevented any movementwithout Voldemort's strict approval.

Izar bowed his head and began to quietly snicker. Steadily, the chuckles turned into booming laughs. Hysterical laughing. "I don't even know why I try with you," he breathed through the hysteria. He unexpectedly felt enclosed, claustrophobic. The fact that he didn't need oxygen but was finding it difficult to breathe obviously said something about his emotional and mental condition.

Unable to stand in the room any longer, Izar pushed past Voldemort and into the corridor. The darkness residing in the halls consumed him and he found himself submitting. His shoulders dropped and his neck bent forward. Sluggishly, the world spun and Izar placed a palm against the stone corridor to steady himself. While he used the shadows to veil his weakening expression, he knew Voldemort, who was following behind him at a leisure pace, would spy his deteriorated resolve.

Was this what it would be like from now on? The Dark Lord's eyes on him at all times?

_Of course not. _

What was wrong with him? Simply because he was unstable at the moment from creating the artificial Horcrux didn't mean he had to lose his common sense.

Izar straightened his shoulders, forcing away his grogginess. Getting Voldemort's knickers in a bundle was what he lived for. Izar knew he would have just as much independence as before, simply because he would _make _it that way. Voldemort could try to keep Izar grounded, but the Black heir would try just as hard to break free. Sneaking out of the Malfoy Manor or the Dark Lord's base couldn't be too difficult. He'd make sure of it.

His steps were soundless as he walked up the flight of stairs, intent on going to the room that housed him last year during Yuletide. Already, the Dark spells Izar put on Nagini lured him closer.

Izar decided he wouldn't withhold Nagini from Voldemort just because they had another disagreement. The man was a bastard and it was to be expected. At any rate, Izar _needed _Nagini out of his hair and he could go to sleep soon after presenting her to Voldemort.

"You don't deserve it," Izar felt inclined to speak to the stalking shadow behind him. "But it's prudent that you receive the gift as quickly as possible."

It was a relief to see that the room he used last year was, indeed, his room this year. He spotted his trunk at the base of the large bed. Behind him, as soon as Voldemort snuck inside, Izar slammed the door shut with a wave of his wand.

The man stayed silent as Izar kneeled in front of his trunk. Waving his wand over the locks, they turned before snapping open. Izar gave a crooked smile, proud of himself when he felt the draw toward Nagini's basket multiply. If Voldemort felt it as well, he didn't say.

"Here," Izar invited. Picking up the basket, he offered it to the Dark Lord, content he had thought to put a charm on the basket to make the small space expansive on the inside and weightless to the wizard holding it.

Voldemort surveyed the basket suspiciously, refusing to take it. It was obvious the man could feel the power dripping from the object inside. The split-crimson eyes then jumped to Izar's face, studying it closely. Frowning deeply, Voldemort slowly sat at the edge of Izar's bed and opened his hands as acceptance. "Will I need to arm myself?"

Izar glowered at the man. "Open it."

The Dark Lord took the basket and placed it on his lap. Cautiously, he opened the lid and Izar leaned forward, diligently watching the Dark Lord's reaction.

Nagini, as if frustrated for being cooped in her cage all day, shot out rapidly. Voldemort matched her reflexes even quicker and enclosed his hand around her open mouth. He held her firmly by the snout, controlling her movements. Both snake and man surveyed each other, their eyes only inches apart. The stare was interested on Voldemort's behalf and wary on Nagini's.

"A serpent," Voldemort mused in wicked pleasure. "A very attractive serpent." His nostrils flared as he inhaled her. "She's also the female I smelt on you."

Izar placed his forehead against the trunk in exasperation. "_Fool_," he murmured in tender reprehension. "Is that all you think she is?"

Voldemort offered Nagini one last appraising look before he forced her back in the basket. Izar watched, half amused and half concerned for Nagini's sanity. Her eyes accused Izar from inside her cage before Voldemort pushed the lid closed.

"She was looking forward to speaking to you." Izar felt inclined to defend the large serpent.

"That can wait until later," Voldemort replied hastily before leaning down and grabbing Izar's collar. And just as quickly as he stopped Nagini's lunge, Voldemort pulled Izar off the floor and onto the bed.

Before Izar could make much sense of their positioning, long fingers curled at the roots of his hair and pulled his head backward to expose his throat. Lips then pressed to his neck possessively.

"It's my Horcrux," Voldemort answered Izar's earlier inquiry. "It's impressive. _You're _impressive," the man whispered huskily against the wet skin of Izar's throat.

Now _this_ was something Izar could get used to. The man could keep going if he wished...

He moaned softly, never feeling as exhilarated as he did at this point. _He _was on topof _Voldemort. _Sadly? He couldn't find it in himself to become aroused. The exhaustion and fatigue weighed heavily in his head while his vision became hot. His eyes weren't any better off as they prayed for a relief. Izar struggled to make himself rise to the occasion— the very same occasion Izar knew he would probably never be granted again.

Control. Here he was, on top of an appreciative Dark Lord and all he could think about was how delectable those pillows looked against the headboard.

Voldemort seemed to pick up on Izar's lack of arousal and turned their positions around abruptly. The Dark Lord was hard and heavy, the proof pressing down on Izar's leg. The younger wizard breathed in surprise, pondering about their position just briefly.

This was the first time Voldemort had ever laid on top of Izar fully. The weight was crushing and the posture was possessive and dominant. If Izar wished, he could have struggled from underneath him, but he found himself content with the current position. The mattress was incredibly soft at his back…

He closed his eyes, feigning bliss as Voldemort rubbed his manhood through his robes in attempt to arouse him.

The day had been a success, Izar thought. He had appeared in front of the Death Eaters after a long and suspicious absence, he had killed off one of the last Unspeakables that had a hand in Connor's invention, he successfully constructed the Horcrux the Light Wizards would hunt, and he held his own well enough against Voldemort.

With that in mind, Izar promptly fell asleep.

**{Death of Today}**

"Black."

The call was quiet enough and Izar fell back in a deep slumber. Until the call persisted…

"_Black!" _

Izar jerked awake, drowsy and bemused. Drool caked the corner of his mouth and the heavy blanket beneath him. For a moment, he stared at his fully clothed body—dress robes wrinkled and kinked. His shoes were still on as his feet as they dangled off the edge of the bed.

And then it all came back to him.

His eyes sharpened as they shot to the man sitting lazily in the chair next to the bed. Voldemort had on new robes, proof that he had not spent the night in Izar's room and that it was a new day. Nagini was draped contently across the Dark Lord's shoulders, all but purring as the man stroked the sensitive area under her chin. Both were staring at him in displeasure, both for different reasons.

"By all means," Voldemort murmured calmly. "Invite your guest inside. I'm eager to hear what young Mr. Malfoy has to say."

Izar sat up, placing his palms against his eyes in aggregation. Already, the day wasn't looking too bright. Waking up to a displeased Dark Lord _and _a desperate Malfoy? At least his exhaustion had diminished somewhat, leaving him only disorientated with the long slumber he had most likely gone through last night and late this morning.

"As long as you make yourself scarce," Izar countered sullenly. The young wizard slowly stood from his bed at another loud knock at his door. He didn't know if he could muster up the patience for Draco Malfoy.

"For bloody sake, Black, open this—"

Having faith that the Dark Lord would make himself scarce, Izar threw open the door, offering Malfoy a deep scowl. "I would like to inform you that you've accomplished your goal," Izar hissed darkly.

Draco gave an once-over at Izar's appearance before welcoming himself in the room. "And what is that?" the blond countered regally. "Waking your lazy arse up?"

"No," Izar replied simply before shutting the door. "Making me believe you are an impossible brat to get along with."

With eyes mirroring the color of his father, Draco glanced around the room. Thankfully, both the Dark Lord and Nagini were nowhere in sight. All that was left behind was an untidy, yet unslept-in bed. Seeing the mattress, Izar couldn't help but to remember what transpired last night.

He couldn't believe he fell asleep while Voldemort was attempting to get him aroused. It had been an opportunity Izar shouldn't have passed up. He had been _ready _to have sex. And last night, Voldemort had been appreciated enough with Izar that the Dark Lord would have allowed Izar some control. One thing was for sure. Voldemort would be utterly unbearable the next time they got this far again.

"The feeling is mutual then," Draco agreed.

Izar's gaze shot from the bed to the shorter wizard next to him. Focusing on the Malfoy heir, Izar could see the turmoil the boy was going through. While Malfoy hid it well, Izar's sharp eye could see the dark circles, the blood-shot eyes, the sickly pallor… it was all signs of emotional distress. To give Izar even more proof of the boy's anguish, the aura around Malfoy was dim, giving off bright and desperate spasms before extinguishing once again.

Izar slowly turned his shoulder on the boy, pretending as if he hadn't taken notice. He was torn between telling Malfoy they should speak later, in private, but another part of him couldn't care a less about the Dark Lord overhearing.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Izar questioned, all snark from his tone gone. "Is this related to what Daphne wanted to speak to me about last night?"

A weary sigh escaped the boy's mouth as he picked up an ordainment from the desk. Izar watched him closely, observing the stubbornness tightening around the blonde's mouth.

"I didn't want to come to you. But I had no other choice. Daphne convinced me you would assist."

"I'll assist if I can," Izar replied skeptically. "If I know what it is."

Draco continued to face away from Izar as he traced the dark swirls in the glass ordainment. "I was given a task by the Dark Lord."

Izar immediately straightened, ready to intervene, but Malfoy continued.

"It was a task, to prove my worthiness, my loyalty. If I succeed, I will be promoted to Second Tier. _He _said this. He said I was worthy enough to move within the ranks if I could complete this task. Like my father, I would someday be in the Inner-Circle." Draco turned around, staring at Izar with a fierce passion. "I want this more than anything, Black."

There were two types of Death Eaters. Ones like Lucius, the Lestranges, and Izar who were cruel—hard— and lacked a certain sanity. And then there were the other Death Eaters who went along with the tide because they either thought it was expected of them or they wanted to fit within the mold, a mold where rejects could feel welcome. Draco was the latter. He wanted his father to look highly upon him.

"Do you really?" Izar whispered softly. "Or do you believe your father wants it more than you?"

Draco stared at him before setting down the glass ordainment sharply on the table. "I knew you wouldn't help. I was foolish for coming here. Forget this happened, Black."

Izar looked upward, grasping as much patience as he could before reaching forward and stopping Draco around the wrist. "Stop pitying yourself, Malfoy," Izar scolded. "I said I would help you if I knew what it was. You have yet to tell me."

He wouldn't push the topic of Draco's involvement with the Death Eaters. The boy would make a very impressive politician, but his sole focused seemed to be on making an impression in the Death Eater army.

Draco sighed heavily between his teeth, offering Izar a look of contempt. "He wants me to find a way for the Death Eaters to get into Hogwarts."

Izar released Draco's wrist, surprise freezing his mind for a brief second. Voldemort would most likely be seething at the prospect of Draco speaking to someone about the task he presented the blond. Though, it was obvious from Malfoy's dispiriting appearance that the boy wasn't handling this well.

"There is a cabinet, two cabinets, really," Malfoy continued. "It is a passage way between two places—"

"The Vanishing Cabinet," Izar supplied, remembering reading about them in one of his books. Malfoy shot him a look of disdain for knowing the answer so easily. Izar brushed it off. "It _is _a rather brilliant idea. Where is it located in Hogwarts? Dumbledore hasn't removed it?"

Malfoy glanced down, tugging on his robes. "One is in the Room of Requirements and the other is in Burkes. The Headmaster doesn't realize the significance, not yet." Draco then looked up at Izar a bit desperately. "I've tried _everything_. Every time I put in an object, it returns to me either dead or… or bloody destroyed." The whites around Malfoy's eyes were showing as a deranged look crossed the boy's features.

Izar blinked before chuckling softly. It hadn't meant to escape past his lips, but it had and Malfoy heard it with clarity.

"You think this is _funny_?"

"Actually, I don't," Izar replied, controlling himself. He turned his back on Malfoy, smirking at the far wall in order to express his amusement. The boy was hysterical. There was nothing wrong with Izar finding humor in it. "I confess that I don't recognize all the properties with the Vanishing Cabinet. I will need to research the topic. But it sounds to me that it is having trouble on the receiving end at Burkes as it sends back the object or it could even be the Hogwarts cabinet as it transfers the object to Burkes."

He was simply musing to himself out-loud, wondering if it was possible to assist Malfoy if he couldn't see the Cabinet personally.

"Will you be able to assist me?" Draco inquired.

Good boy. The blond had recovered nicely from his desperation and was now showing off the cool pure-blood mask Lucius was credited for creating. And yet… there was something else in the boy's tone. Something Izar could pick up as hesitation.

"Perhaps," Izar began, "I may be able to travel to Borgin and Burkes and look at it more closely with you. But…" he turned around and narrowed his eyes on Draco. "Only if you tell me what else is bothering you."

Draco straightened, scoffing. "I don't know what you're on about."

Izar took an advancing step forward. "I think you do. Otherwise, if you won't tell me, you can go to our Lord and inform him that you cannot complete the task he has presented you with. I'm sure he will be pleased with you—"

"You're just like Bella," Draco accused sharply. "You both share that sweet façade and tone, but a lethal _bitch _is lurking beneath the insane twinkle."

"My, my," Izar scolded softly. "It's one thing to accuse me of being a bitch, but another to allow your jealousy to run your tongue." Izar waved a dismissive hand at Draco's indignant look. "Sometimes, I believe you would have fit better on my side of the family. If we could have traded places…" he trailed off, wondering what life would be like if Lily had slept with Lucius instead of Regulus.

But then quickly pushed it aside.

While Draco would have fit in well with Regulus and Sirius and Izar with Lucius, both boys carried their burdens expertly. Izar with the Black insanity and Draco will accepting his mother and father's codling.

Malfoy shook his head, as if to clear out any confusion. "You're bloody ridiculous, Black. I have no idea what you're on about. Again."

Izar gave a lipless smile, pushing past Draco and toward the door. "I'm merely pointing out that you won't get my help unless you tell me what's truly bothering you, besides not being able to fix the Vanishing Cabinet." Leaning against the door, he offered the boy a sly smile. "Insults will get you nowhere."

As predicted, the boy seethed. The struggle to remain confident and flawless contradicted the hot-tempered and spoiled child. Izar knew how Lucius raised the boy wrong. Lucius preached what Draco _should _be, yet, in the privacy of their own home, Draco's father and mother constantly spoiled him—turning him into a wizard who got everything and did not learn from his mistakes and loses.

"I want…" Draco took a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hogwarts is my home away from the Malfoy Manor. I just wanted you to ask the Dark Lord if he could spare the castle in his attack and maybe most of the students…"

Izar could see that fixing the Vanishing Cabinet wasn't what was wearing down on Draco. It was the attack itself, what happened after he fixed the cabinet.

"You intrigue me," Izar whispered. "That you can care so much for the students you swore you hated." His fist tightened around the door handle as he watched Draco carefully. Those deep shadows in the boy's eyes must have been noticed by others. Izar had to admit that any other seventeen-year-old in Draco's position had the right to act similarly. They were children, albeit children of Dark Wizards, but children nonetheless. Death and destruction didn't come to them easily.

"Is it the student body that you want saved? Or one person in particular who doesn't support the Dark?" Izar pushed, watching the boy's reaction.

Malfoy bowed his head. "Don't make me answer that."

The boy's answer confirmed Izar's suspicions. The only question was _who _the boy wanted to save. Izar remembered Draco being focused primarily on his dislike for that Mudblood Granger in Ravenclaw and of course, the Weasley. Could that fierce hatred be the boy's way of hiding what he truly thought?

"You know I cannot ask the Dark Lord to do anything. Why do you think I can make him change his mind if he wants to destroy Hogwarts?" Izar decided not to push the topic of Malfoy's hidden desires.

"If any Death Eater can speak to the Dark Lord openly, it's you," Malfoy countered. "He has bloody stars in his eyes for you. You're his favorite. Do you honestly believe I'm thick not to see that?"

"I grow weary of this," Izar breathed. "I will inform you when we leave for Borgin and Burkes. Until then, you're free to leave."

Before he could open the door to emit Draco, the blond came to a stop directly in front of him. A warm hand placed itself on top of Izar's cold fist. "You're not as nearly as cruel and cold as you'd like to think." Draco leaned closer, trying in vain to add a few inches in height to meet Izar's eyes on equal level. "I know you favor a selected few wizards and witches and you'd do anything to protect them. A hero-complex, I suppose. And while I'm probably not in that category, I know you have some sort of soft spot for me. And I hope I never do anything to destroy that. I appreciate your assistance."

Removing his hand from Izar's, the blond stepped back. Izar recovered swiftly and opened the door for the older wizard, wondering if there was more to the Malfoy heir than he originally thought. The boy was on the verge of adulthood, losing some of his innocence. Perhaps in a few years, Izar could reevaluate Draco's true character and see more of a young Lucius rather than a spoiled Malfoy heir.

As Izar opened the door, he caught sight of another blond on the other side of the threshold. "I don't know how much more Malfoy interaction I can handle this morning…" Izar commented dryly, more thrilled with seeing Lucius than annoyed.

Lucius eyed his son sharply as Draco ducked out of the room and hurried down the hall. "Sadly, I did not come up here to speak to you," Lucius murmured, turning back to Izar and eyeing his state of disarray with a suspicious eye. "There is someone who wishes to speak to you. I tried hopelessly to get him off my property, but he insists…"

Izar's expression darkened when he saw Sirius, dressed in his Auror uniform, step into view. He offered his nephew a small grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, kiddo."

"Sirius," Izar greeted ominously. His charmed charcoal and green eyes shot to Lucius. "Thank you, Lucius." It was meant to be a dismissal, but Lucius remained standing in place.

"I do not appreciate the influence the mutt has on you, nor the influence your father has," Lucius whispered sinisterly, his eyes shards of ice as he watched Sirius closely. "I agreed to show him you were faring well, only because he threatened a band of Aurors to take over my home. But I did not agree on any conversation between the two of you."

Izar only wished he had been there to see the two spar. What he didn't appreciate was constantly being watched over and babysat. "I respect your position as Lord Malfoy, Lucius, and that you have complete control over the wards. If you believe Sirius needs to be thrown out on his arse, feel free to do it. Otherwise, I would like to request a few minutes alone with him."

Sirius leaned against the doorframe, watching the interaction carefully. Like Draco, Sirius showed signs of emotional anxiety. Those seeds of doubt Izar planted in his uncle's mind must have taken affect. And to think Sirius had sought _him _rather than the other way around was proof that Izar had succeeded in manipulating his uncle.

"I would like nothing more than to grant you that," Lucius replied, glancing down the corridor. "However, our Lord has specifically instructed me to escort Mr. Black off the premises once he sees you. No later. There are other Aurors circling the perimeter who thought they'd search my manor for you. Mr. Black convinced them he would be the one to search upstairs." Lucius grimaced. "How he managed such smooth manipulation is beyond me."

It shouldn't have surprised Izar that the Dark Lord would be behind this. Now that he expanded his magic-sensitivity, he could no longer feel Voldemort in or around the room. When had the man left? It was foolish of Izar not to constantly track the Dark Lord. And Merlin's beard, the man was impossible.

"I need to speak with you," Sirius interrupted the exchange. "About us. About Regulus and Lily… it's of dire importance."

Izar surveyed the two, noticing Lucius closing in on Sirius—ready to use force if necessary. Sighing, he turned his heel and began stripping. Lucius made a sound of disagreement in his throat, but Izar paid him no heed as he threw off his wrinkled dress robes and grabbed a plain black hooded robe. Hopefully the silver stitching was enough to satisfy Lucius' sharp eye for passable fashion.

"I will escort him off the premises, Lucius."

The blond made a motion to disagree, but held his tongue. With a short and angry bow at the waist, Lucius swept off. The man was rather protective of Izar. The man had never liked Regulus and believed his father was a bad influence on Izar.

"He's a pompous arse," Sirius growled deeply, watching Lucius go with a poignant grimace. "They treat you like a prisoner, Izar. I don't understand how you can put up with them."

Izar escaped his bedroom, taking Sirius by the elbow and leading him into the corridor. Despite being mid-morning, sunlight hadn't reached the depths of the manor. "And I will never understand why you insist on following a man whose morals are as wrinkled as his balls."

Sirius had no choice but to follow Izar's leading hand. The man stroked his growing beard with his opposite arm, an impish grin to his face. "I can't argue with you there, kid."

"The teasing aside, why did you come here, Sirius?" Izar persisted as he led his uncle down the dark and quiet corridor. The political guests staying at the Malfoy Manor for Yuletide were likely already up, enjoying a lavishing breakfast in the main hall while the Death Eaters were likely mingling in the backyard again.

Sirius' face crumbled and he looked pitifully down the hallway. "I don't want you to think you're whole family abandoned you. Regulus is pretty torn up, Izar. He's back in Grimmauld watching Aiden and hasn't brightened up since waking up."

"You're visiting him. That's good. And here I thought you've given up on your family."

Sirius suddenly took him by the shoulders, pushing Izar against the wall. Izar tried not to let his amusement show, but a small smirk lifted the corner of his mouth when he saw how frustrated Sirius appeared.

"I told you, family is important to me. Maybe I needed a wakeup call that day at the Ministry, I admit, but I need you to understand that you and Regulus will always mean very much to me. I don't know how to get through to you that I love you and that Regulus would do _anything _for you. He couldn't go on the run with you because he needed to uphold his innocence in case it could be beneficial to you later."

"I don't want to talk about Regulus," Izar began. "I want to talk about _you_. And why, exactly, you are here."

Sirius gave a hiss of frustration, pushing against Izar before turning away. The man placed a hand to his head, surveying the portraits on the dimmed walls. "You should know that your family loves you. I don't want Bellatrix to be the only Black in your life. With the Black insanity already threatening us each day, it is unwise to surround yourself with someone as unstable as Bellatrix. She will only bring out the worse in you."

Izar remained leaning against the wall, intrigued with the way things were working out with Sirius. And yet, there was also guilt. A strange sort of guilt Izar _never_ felt when it came to getting his way. Sirius was always a proud wizard. To see him this distraught pulled slightly at Izar's chest. But only slightly.

"If showing you I support you means that I have to make sacrifices, I will," Sirius continued, pushing his hand from his forehead and turning to Izar. "I will never join the Death Eaters willingly. But I am prepared to act as a personal spy for you. I don't agree with Dumbledore and Rufus has become too power-hungry. Riddle is just as much as a turnoff as the others, but I support _you_. I believe you can somehow make this work."

"You're willing to spy for me?" Izar whispered softly.

Sirius looked down the corridor, on edge. "I need to leave, Izar. But we still have a lot more to talk about. Lily and James… they'd like to speak to you as well."

Speaking to the Potters should have put Izar off, but it didn't. Both of them were rather agreeable at times and it could pose as useful for the Dark. "When would you like to meet?" Izar murmured quietly. "Tomorrow night is the Wild Hunt and my absence will be noted. How about the night after?" He made sure he checked their surroundings for any lingering magical auras.

No one was near.

"It could work. Ten at night? Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor would probably be the ideal location. Everyone's homes are being watched lately, meeting in plain sight will most likely be the best resolution. Just a simple disguise will do."

Izar only nodded, wondering at the exact details of his escape from Malfoy Manor.

Sirius already began jogging slowly down the corridor before Izar could suggest another location. However, Izar wouldn't have Sirius leaving without an open threat.

"Sirius," Izar called to his uncle's back. The man turned expectedly. "I have a semblance of trust with you. Just know, if you try _anything_, I won't hesitate…" he trailed off, the warning heavy in the air for both wizards to take notice of.

The man lowered his head for a moment, his shoulders trembling and fists clenching. "It pains me to hear that. But I understand." Cloudy grey eyes looked up at Izar seriously. "I understand."

Offering a farewell nod, Sirius turned back around.

With half his face in the shadows, Izar watched his uncle go, a sick and dark smile twisting his face. While he felt sated that he had successfully changed Sirius' mind, Izar's thoughts centered primarily on his upcoming battle with Voldemort. It would be a battle of the mind and Izar had every intention of winning this time around.

Meeting with James, Lily, and Sirius wasn't so much about wanting to hear them out, it was the victory of getting past Voldemort's unyielding hold.

And Izar had a good idea as to where to start.

**{Death of Today}**

A wrinkled hand stroked the long beard and blue eyes narrowed in consideration.

"What you tell me is a very serious accusation, yet remarkably useful."

"It's not an accusation when it's the truth," the man across from Dumbledore murmured sourly. "Izar Black is, indeed, a vampire. I have given you my proof. Not many knew that Black traveled to France with his own band of Death Eaters to accompany him. While there, he challenged Acelin Morel. And we both know what creature Morel was before he died. By the Dark Lord's hand, mind you. Black failed in his attempted assassination which could only mean that he was on the other end of Morel's fangs."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. He offered a long look at a slumbering Fawkes, finding the gold and crimson plumage peaceful. "But the other evidence…" Dumbledore turned back to the man across from him. "Are you certain this source's mind was sane enough to gather the needed facts?"

The dark figure leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of his face. "There could be a chance that Black is not a vampire, yes. But I highly doubt as much."

"For some reason, Tom has found his right hand man in the young Mr. Black." Dumbledore trailed off, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle presented to him. Granted, it was one of the most difficult puzzles he had to work with. Whenever it came to Tom Riddle, Dumbledore always found it hard to piece together in order to find out what the Dark Lord was scheming.

"The Dark Lord likes to keep Black under his sights, yet there is distance he likes to keep. In public."

"Which is surprising considering Tom is a possessive wizard." Dumbledore trailed the dancing swirl on his robes with his eyes. "Mr. Black is a prodigy," Albus reasoned. "He has a very sharp and observant mind for someone so young. And the handful of times I've interacted with him, I found him rather amusing and charming. It's no wonder Tom has taken a liking to the boy. In a way, Izar Black is very much like Tom Riddle." Dumbledore sighed forlornly. "Though, I see a lack of sadism in Mr. Black that Tom possesses. You say he is rather placated in the torture?"

The man nodded. "He doesn't enjoy torture, no. But don't get any ideas, Albus. You cannot turn the boy from the Dark. When he is faced with an opponent who wields means to defend themselves, he rivals the image of the Dark Lord like no one I've seen before."

"I wasn't thinking of turning the boy," Dumbledore shook his head. "I am only measuring his worth. It was I who tried to convince Rufus to place Mr. Black in the Unspeakable contraption in order to get dispose of him. Instead, Rufus wanted to toy with Mr. Black's mind by making the boy watch his subordinates suffer."

His fingers tapped on the heavy desk. Izar Black was a wizard Dumbledore knew he couldn't keep alive, despite the boy's rather honorable temperament to those weaker than him. The boy was dangerous in Tom's hands, especially because Tom knew how to play the boy to his fullest potential.

"I am trying to determine why Tom has taken a special interest in the boy. Is there only Mr. Black's mind that is valuable or is there more that we don't know about?" Though, how often was a prodigy born and willing to work with a Dark Lord? "No matter, Mr. Black is a dangerous target we need to focus our efforts on. While I find it hard to believe myself, losing Mr. Black may cripple Tom for a good while."

"Izar Black is only _one _individual. Do you truly believe he is such a benefit to the Dark Lord?"

Dumbledore gave a deep hum, his attention turning on the silver tray of lemon drops. He leaned forward, pushing aside the yellow orbs that didn't catch his eye. "I do. I truly believe that Tom is relying on Mr. Black with some semblance. Do I believe Black's death will destroy the Dark Side? No, of course not. But it will take Tom a lengthy amount of time to reevaluate his strategy and recover from losing his right hand."

"Ah," Dumbledore grabbed the largest lemon drop and sat back once again. He rolled it between his long fingers, staring at the piece of candy in deliberation. "Killing Black will be a challenge, but now that we are aware of his immorality, we can come up with a reasonable method."

The old Headmaster popped the lemon drop in his mouth and closed his eyes. _Immortality. _Albus chomped harshly down on the sweet as he began to speculate on Izar Black and Tom Riddle. Was it possible that Black was immortal _before _he faced Morel in France? If that were the case, someone would have needed to grant Mr. Black the curse of immortality.

Tom…

Alas, Tom couldn't be a vampire, could he?

No, of course not. What a silly thought. Tom Riddle viewed creatures as beneath him. Vampires had too many weaknesses and were easy to slay. The Dark Lord wouldn't risk being such an easy target.

"Now that Tom has finally taken the title of a Dark Lord, I believe it's time we start looking for his Horcruxes once more." Dumbledore cracked open an eye and looked at the man sitting in front of his desk. "Do you have any ideas where to start, Severus?"

Severus sneered. "I do not possess the time to rifle for unrevealed items, Albus. Until you have real need of me, I will be down in the lab."

Dumbledore watched the man go, waving away the negative air in the room with a flippant hand. He allowed his mind to center briefly around Tom Riddle and Izar Black before another lemon drop caught his attention.

* * *

**{Notes}** I apologize for my long absence. I've been having a personal issue for a while now. It's been… conveniently absent ever since I stopped posting a month ago and I hope it stays that way from now on. I will aim at updating each week, but if that _issue _pops up again, I cannot promise that.

See you next week (or perhaps earlier).

_Thanks for reading/reviewing. _


	56. Part II Chapter 24

**Warnings: V**ery light** t**orture, grammar errors, and… well… egh.

_Thanks for reading/reviews. _

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

The first thing to establish in getting past Voldemort's dominating hold and meeting the Potters?

A diversion.

A diversion, while elementary and predictable, was exactly what Izar needed to fool Voldemort with so he could escape the Malfoy's wards. However, this diversion needed to be plausible. Something that Voldemort believed Izar would focus his intention on without having an underhanded motive beneath.

"Hello, love," Izar whispered into her ear that morning.

Daphne's lashes flattened against her flushed cheeks before opening wide and offering Izar a glower. "I don't remember you ever greeting me so appropriately, Mr. Black." Despite her efforts, a smile creased her perfectly painted lips. "Please, sit." She pulled out the empty chair next to her. "That is, if the Inner-Circle is through with you today." Her moss-green eyes glanced over Izar's shoulder at the Inner-Circle platform.

Izar had just entered the back of the Malfoy Manor as soon as Sirius left, his mind in disarray with his plan of manipulation. He had deliberately ignored looking in Voldemort's direction, too miffed with the man to make eye contact.

"Have you seen the Dark Lord's serpent?" Daphne continued, her mind likely telling her to look away from Voldemort and Nagini but her eyes unwilling to obey. "It's… unbelievably frightening and large. Not that I have anything against serpents." She quickly turned away, flustered.

"No, I haven't noticed," Izar replied airily, finding himself the subject of many curious and inquisitive glances.

"Good to see you graced us with your majestic presence, Black," Pansy drawled. "Fancy that you would sink so low and step in the Third Tier boundaries." The black-haired witch was sitting gracefully across the table next to a silent and bored-looking Draco Malfoy.

"Pansy," Daphne began breathlessly. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Pansy exhaled nosily, her arms tightly crossed over her ample chest. "I belong here, unlike some others."

Izar reached over and grasped Daphne's arm in order to silence her as she prepared herself for a rebuttal. Instead, the Black heir offered Pansy a handsome smirk as he leaned across the table toward her. "You're more than welcome to stay here, Pansy. In fact, I'd be _honored _with your presence. I haven't seen you since our days at Hogwarts when your nose was permanently stuck to the high ceilings."

It had the desired effect. Pansy sat stiffly for a few passing seconds, challenging Izar with a deep glare. The Black heir just stared back, more amused than insulted with her persistence. Eventually, she pushed her chair back and angrily walked to another table of young Death Eaters. Izar noticed there were very few new Hogwarts students in the fold. In fact, Izar was the youngest and it appeared as if the Dark Lord hadn't marked anymore teens.

It made sense. There weren't any more Slytherin students whose parents were loyal Death Eaters.

"Brilliant, Izar," Daphne began. "Now if you could only get rid of Malfoy."

"Don't be silly," Izar drawled. "He's the reason why I'm sitting here." He leaned against his chair, tapping the clothed table with the tips of his fingers. "Draco came to me this morning. I'm sure you're aware of what we spoke of." Izar caught the flash of recognition behind Daphne's eyes.

So she knew. Did this mean that Draco and Daphne were becoming closer? Was Izar's plan of pushing the two together on the right path?

Draco leaned forward, his mercury eyes sweeping the area around them. "Do you really think it's wise to speak about this here? You don't understand, Black, that I want this strictly between the three of us. If anyone else finds out…"

Izar chuckled, carefree. Little did Malfoy know that Izar wanted the Dark Lord to be suspicious of their conversation. A small part of Izar felt slightly guilty for using Draco like this to get the best of Voldemort, but, it was only a small part he could smother easily.

"Then I suggest you continue to lean forward and lower your voice, Draco. While you're at it, perhaps you can increase your shifty assessment of the backyard," Izar reprimanded dryly. "Your actions are a dead giveaway. Anyone with a right mind will know we're discussing something of importance with just one look your way."

Malfoy hissed through his parted lips, leaning back in his chair and feigning nonchalance.

"Better," Daphne appraised.

"As if you're qualified to pass judgment, Greengrass."

Izar ignored the two as his eyes caught sight of a familiar face. Or, rather, a face that had matured in the course of a year.

Theodore Nott. The same Slytherin Izar assisted last year in obtaining revenge for his father's imprisonment. Nott Senior had been put into Azkaban last year due to being caught hoarding a few Dark artifacts. Izar accepted Nott's plea in finding Appleton, the man who put Nott Senior into Azkaban for two years. The mission hadn't been the greatest success, but Izar remembered it with clarity.

Sadly, Theodore's father had been terminally ill and passed away in Azkaban not too long after. With his father's passing, Izar could clearly see the maturity settle across Theodore's face. After all, with his father and mother gone, Theodore was the Head of the Nott family. From what Izar heard, Theodore dropped his schooling and decided to work within the Ministry.

Other than those rumors, Izar hadn't heard or seen the boy since their days at Hogwarts. It was slightly surprising to note that Theodore Nott was standing with a few other Death Eaters from the Second Tier.

So, the boy must have been promoted…

Hardened blue eyes turned and caught Izar's intense stare. Nott blinked before breaking out in a hearty grin. But Merlin, the boy was still gangly and his features still resembled a rabbit—a mature rabbit, mind.

Izar was most interested in assessing the boy's tall and thin frame. Theodore strode across the platform and down the steps to the Third Tier's dais. The Black heir grew eager when he noticed the boy was about the same height as himself, albeit not as graceful in the way he moved. Nonetheless, Nott would and _will _do.

"Izar Black," Nott greeted welcomingly. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Izar stood gracefully from his chair and caught Nott's hand with his own. Nott pulled at Izar, leaning forward and patting the younger across the back. Izar kept a solid grin on his face, despite the repugnance at being greeted so… casually.

Another thing he hated?

Small talk.

"It's been more than a year," Izar agreed. Mentally, he measured Nott. A few hairs taller than himself and a bit fuller too, but incredibly close. Now all that was needed was to manipulate the conversation in his favor. "The last time we were in proximity of one another, you were on the other end of the Dark Lord's wand. Now it looks as if you were deemed loyal enough to jump to Second Tier."

Nott grinned tightly, his pride evident on his face. "I can say the same for you, Black. From the whispers, you're always stepping on our Lord's temper, yet we all made wagers that you'll get inducted into the Inner-Circle before the end of this year."

Izar just offered a negative shake of his head before he smoothly twisted their positions around. Nott was now facing Draco with his back to the Dark Lord. Izar didn't know the extent to Nott's intelligence, but he wouldn't risk the Dark Lord spying Theodore's expression when Izar eventually got to his intended topic of conversation.

"I never did thank you properly," Nott began, oblivious to Izar's scheme. "For helping me last year with… with my situation."

Izar kept his face neutral. "Don't think anything of it. After all, things didn't exactly go smoothly." Would Theodore take the bait? Or would he disappoint Izar and change the topic?

"No it didn't," Nott chuckled. "But you were the most logical head out of all of us. I owe you one, Black. You saved all of our arses back there, the least I can do is give you something in return. A life debt… anything."

It was difficult to smother the hungry glint in his eyes, but Izar was confident that he kept his expression in check. "I wouldn't take a life debt for something that transpired in your hour of desperation, Nott." Izar gave a necessary pause. "But… now that you mention it, I would gladly accept your help with something of importance."

Nott's raised eyebrows were exactly why Izar reversed their positions. It didn't matter that the Dark Lord was engaged in a conversation with his Inner-Circle, the man had eyes everywhere. With Nott facing the woods, not many people would spy the boy's surprise. Nonetheless, Nott recovered quickly when he noticed Izar's act of detachment.

"Of course," Nott replied softly, understanding that Izar wanted things to remain confidential. "I expect you'll contact me?"

Izar smirked in answer. "It was nice touching base with you again, Nott."

The two eyed each other, both knowing Izar was using the older boy. In fact, Izar would have been disappointed in Theodore if the boy hadn't picked up on Izar's manipulation. It didn't bother the Black heir to be using Nott, simply because the boy _did _owe Izar for last year. Nott had used Izar for his intelligence and Izar would use Nott for… well… his plan of escaping the Malfoy Manor undetected and meeting the Potters.

Theodore winked before bowing at the waist and dancing away.

"What—?"

"Where were we?" Izar murmured, cutting off Daphne before she could form a coherent question. The two couldn't have heard the conversation, as Izar made sure his and Nott's volume was at its minimum. "Ah," he eyed a suspicious Draco. "Our plan of going to Knockturn and visiting Borgin and Burkes."

Daphne suddenly leaned forward, pulling at Izar's sleeve and causing the wizard to bend toward her. "I know you will not be allowed out in public, Izar. What do you think you're playing at?"

Izar raised his eyebrows as he gazed across the table at a suspicious Malfoy. "I'm assisting Malfoy just like you intended, Daphne." His eyes then sought hers. "Weren't you the one to suggest to Draco for him to come to me for assistance?"

She huffed, her cheeks coloring slightly. "I would have thought you would go to the Dark Lord and ask _permission _to go to Knockturn with Draco. That way, you would have more time _and _more protection."

"The Dark Lord cannot know this, Greengrass," Draco hissed lethally.

Daphne surveyed the two wizards with mild irritation. "Men," she spat, "are incredibly stubborn and completely illogical." She unclutched Izar's sleeve and ran her hand through her pixie-like hair. "I just hope this doesn't backfire on the two of you like it did last year with Theodore's plan of _revenge_."

"I think you meant to say you don't want this to backfire on the _three _of us," Izar murmured innocently. He smiled at her flabbergasted expression and happened to glance above her head toward the Inner-Circle platform.

His smirk died down when his eyes narrowed on Severus Snape bowing at the waist before the Dark Lord and presenting an unsteady Rookwood. Relief washed through Izar when he noticed Augustus had survived the Unspeakable raid and his deep wound was now healed. But that relief soon turned into abhorrence as Izar focused on the man most likely responsible for Rookwood's recovery.

Izar swallowed, keeping his eyes on Snape's back but addressing the two blonds sitting at the table. "We will leave the night after the Wild Hunt. Meet me near the gardens at ten. Until then, we will not touch on this again."

He was dimly aware of Daphne asking after his well-being, but he paid her no heed. Above, on the First Tier dais, Voldemort dismissed Snape with a wave of his hand and the Potions Master turned to walk down the steps of the platform. Though, as if sensing Izar's fierce stare, Snape paused on the bottom footstep and snapped his head around, locking gazes with the Black heir. Black strands of slick hair fell in the man's eyes as they narrowed in deliberation.

Izar straightened from his bowed position, attempting to hide his trembling hands as he focused all his animosity into his stare. That is, until Snape snapped his cloak around him and hurried toward the entrance to the manor.

Running just made Snape appear like a prey in Izar's eyes. And how could he pass up a chase?

Following Snape with the same pace and elegance, Izar crossed the threshold of the Second Tier platform and easily slithered through the bodies in his way. Everything around him seemed of little consequence but those flowing black robes in front of him. His intent was to catch Snape and he'd do so with simplicity and without interference.

Moments after Snape passed through the threshold of the backyard and into the manor, Izar began to follow quicker, finally relieved of the unwanted attention. His strides were reaching their maximum as he entered the dim manor. Dancing through the corridors, he couldn't help but to compare them to a complex labyrinth.

"Why are you running, professor?" Izar taunted silkily in the dark. He entered another sitting room and saw a cloak disappear around the opposite exit.

The Black heir waltzed across the dim room and paused at the threshold leading out into the corridor. He bowed his neck forward, around the corner of the door, feigning interest in the separate corridors in front of him. "Right or left…" Izar mused in consideration. A lipless smile flattened his mouth as he made a step out of the room before spinning on his heel and leaping back into the dark room.

His fingers sought the crisp collar that was seemingly one with the wall before he slammed the older man into the bookshelves. "You can't fool me," Izar hissed, pushing his forearm against Snape's throat. Fury tickled his belly and his eyes were eagerly drinking in Snape's narrowed gaze. "You may have fooled the Dark Lord and my father, but you will not fool me."

For his credit, Severus didn't gasp for breath and he did not struggle. His eyes only offered Izar a cool assessment as his nose flared dramatically to get the required oxygen.

"I used to respect you," Izar declared, lessening the force against the man's throat. "I even found myself looking up to you as the leading male figure in my life. When Regulus claimed he loved you, I was wary at first only because I believed you were a heartless bastard, but eventually, I accepted Regulus' infatuation."

Izar pushed Snape's throat harder before he dropped his arm. The Potion's Master gave a few coughs, but otherwise retained his composure.

"I accepted whatever sick relationship you have with my father," Izar continued icily. "But I will _not _accept you corrupting his mind. When he was in a coma, I trusted you enough to aid him in his mental recovery. I did not expect him to wake up a new man, renouncing his loyalties!"

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits and he took an advancing step forward. With a long finger, he poked at Izar's chest. "I marvel at your sense of reasoning, Mr. Black. You believe I have done something to your father's mind? I pity you. You are no longer your father's main propriety in life, as he is now able to see he has a life of his own. He no longer makes decisions based on your happiness, but his _and _yours. And you think that I tampered with his mentality? I _fixed _it."

Izar curled his cold fingers around Snape's wrist, keeping the finger in place, but being the one in control of it. "I do not claim to be put down over his decisions, _Severus_. You think me a spoiled child who needs his father?" Keeping Snape's hand rooted on the spot, the Black heir stepped in close, crowding the man's personal space. "I do not need Regulus. But I take his safety seriously and that includes his mental health. If you so much touch his mind again—"

Snape ripped his hand away from Izar's loose grip and pushed the younger wizard against the doorframe rather violently. Anger welled up in the onyx eyes as he leered down at Izar. "Everything I do, I do it to protect Regulus—damn the consequences to _you_." Strands of hair clung to the man's face as he thrust his face closer to Izar's. "Do you understand me, _boy_?"

A hissing sounded between the tension and both wizards looked down to see Nagini winding between the two of them.

"Playing nice, children?"

The voice would have likely sent chills down Izar's spine if he hadn't been as angry as he was. He kept his eyes narrowed on Snape as the Potions Master leaned back, straightening his robes. "Forgive me, Master. I have acted out of turn," Severus bowed low at his waist before Voldemort. "If I may take my leave?"

Izar leaned heavily against the doorframe once Snape swept from the room. He placed his arms across his chest in order to hide the obvious tremors of anxiety. "I don't trust him," Izar breathed deeply. "I don't trust him at all."

"Neither do I, child, yet you do not see me cornering him in dark rooms."

Izar gave an ironic chuckle, looking up at the ceiling in order to gather his bearings. "If you do not trust him, then why keep him around? He is only a hazard to us."

"Would you like me to kill him for you?" Voldemort inquired silkily, curiously.

Izar's eyes snapped across the darkened room toward the cloaked figure of the Dark Lord. He stood calmly, proudly, as Nagini circled near his feet. His unruly hair was tied back once again, bringing attention to the porcelain skin and sharp cheekbones. Crimson eyes watched Izar almost lovingly, yet there was a dark emotion behind those eyes—a mixture of fascination, obsession, and amusement. A moment later, they were blank with the exception of taunting arrogance.

It frightened Izar to see those emotions in Voldemort's face, only because if Izar let his own walls down, his eyes would mirror those of the Dark Lord's. It was easier to pretend they didn't hold anything remotely similar to _love _and passed it off as cool nonchalance. If they were ever to examine their true feelings…

Izar pushed his thoughts away irritably. "Don't play with me," Izar grounded out. He pushed off the doorframe and walked the outer-edge of the unused sitting room. "You wouldn't kill him, simply because you have a use for him."

"That is true," Voldemort agreed lightly. "Yet if it is something you want so badly that you tremble with it, I am inclined to gift you with it. Severus is useful for many things, but he is also replaceable. He will be dead in a matter of minutes upon your request."

He didn't know whether to believe Voldemort was testing him or if it was a genuine offer. "The offer is generous, but I can handle my weaknesses." He wanted to press the topic of Snape's usefulness to the Dark Lord, but at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to think about the man he had looked up to as a child. The very same man who, in some way, had a hand in Regulus' changing loyalties.

"If that is what you wish…" Voldemort trailed off, watching Izar closely.

The man then stealthily walked away from the center of the room and seemed to become one with the large chair. No lights had been lit, no fire. It was if Voldemort wanted to throw Izar off balance.

"Nonetheless, you and I need to speak about recent events."

The younger placed his palm against the solid wood of the bookcase. From Nagini's hissing laugh, Izar knew exactly what caused a decrease in temperature in the room. The Dark Lord was angry and he wanted answers regarding Izar's choice of draining his life force into Nagini.

Izar scoffed, trying to veer away from the intended topic. "Are you certain you wish to speak about last night? How you failed to perform?"

Voldemort issued a low and long hiss between his teeth. "You are a fool. Do you believe a night's sleep gave you the energy you have today? Hm? I think not." The man ignored Izar entirely. "While you were drooling across your bed, I fed you a few drops of my blood."

The Black heir's lips pursed, both intrigued and irritated.

"Explain," Voldemort continued. "Without your cheeky comments, explain to me why you did something so _foolish_!"

"Foolish? I did nothing foolish," Izar growled angrily. "I already told you my intent to create _her_." He threw an arm in the general direction of a watchful Nagini. "The Dark Curses inside of her kept self-destructing when meshed tightly together. I tried eliminating as many of the Dark spells as I could, but I need all of them in order to create a believable Horcrux." Izar turned his back on Voldemort, examining the many books on the shelves. "I came to the conclusion that I needed a Light spell to balance out the Dark. It needed to be a powerful Light spell, like love, or a shard of soul, or… a portion of my life force."

Voldemort tsked. "And you did so without thinking."

"I did so after thinking _long _and hard, My Lord. Perhaps you are in the wrong about this. I created something that will destroy many key members to Dumbledore's army."

"But you did so incorrectly," Voldemort began as soon as Izar got his last word out. "You were on the run, child. What would have happened if the Ministry got a hold of you in your weakened state? We are in the middle of a war. You cannot do these things without a proper head."

Izar placed both hands on the ledge of the bookshelf, leaning forward to gather himself. The Dark Lord had a point and Izar hated to admit it. He had been too thrilled with the prospect of finding out the long mystery to the fake Horcrux that he hadn't realized he was in an awkward position to perform the ritual.

"You may be right," Izar spat out bitterly. "But I will need to perform the ritual a few more times. I need more ideas for Horcruxes, My Lord. They need to be artifacts Tom Riddle can be associated with, ones that Dumbledore may have an idea about." He turned in time to catch an acrimonious sneer cross the Dark Lord's face. "Like that ring, for example."

Spidery fingers closed around the black ring possessively. Izar bit his tongue, furious over the man's reluctance when it was Izar who had done all the work. "Fine then," Izar whispered hoarsely. "We can forgo this plan and continue to wrestle with the Dumbledore's Army because you cannot sacrifice a bloody _ring_."

He made a move to exit the room, but Voldemort's fingernails hitched deeply into Izar's wrist, pulling him down suddenly. Equally sharp nails scratched his thin neck as the man pulled his face down for a bruising kiss. Arousal burned hotly in Izar's stomach as the smell of Voldemort consumed him. Though, it didn't last long as Voldemort pulled away quickly, smirking to himself.

Ah yes, the man was playing hard to get in retribution of Izar's rejection last night.

"I will present you with six more artifacts to construct into Horcruxes before the end of this week. I wish to lure Dumbledore and his army with a Horcrux before the New Year. If… that is adequate for you?" Voldemort questioned, offering a loving stroke to his ring.

"More than adequate," Izar agreed, suddenly _very _excited over the prospect of a battle before the end of the year. "Will we create them here or at your base? I will need a few days of rest after creating them—"

"You will either get someone else to offer their life force or you will not participate in the battle."

Izar reared his head back, furious. "Good luck with that, My Lord. You can create your own bloody Horcrux because I will not assist you if I cannot participate in the battle." He kept his face neutral as Voldemort turned an icy stare in his direction. Izar may have sounded like a child, but he needed a battle. He needed release. "Offering a life force needs to be done _willingly. _And the Death Eaters cannot have any suspicions that the Horcruxes are not real. I need to be the one to do this, but I will not go through with it if I cannot participate."

Voldemort suddenly gave a thin smile. "My, my, child. Hungry for a little blood shed?" His long fingers finally ceased their petting of the ring and instead curled around Izar's skinny wrists. "The Wild Hunt will be tomorrow night. I will have a surprise for you then."

Izar grimaced. "I hope the surprise will be something other than white robes?"

The Dark Lord flashed a toothy grin in response. "Indeed it will. I expect you will be ready for a chase."

"Between you and me or my intended victim?" He had meant it sarcastically but Voldemort surprised him with the answer.

"Both," the man promised darkly before standing. His fingers raked pleasantly across the thin skin at Izar's wrists. "As for the Horcruxes, we will straighten something out in order for you to participate in the battle. I have plans for you."

"Someone is being awfully agreeable today," Izar cooed. "What is it that you want?"

Voldemort raised Izar's chin with a single finger, resting the very tip of his nail at the edge of the jaw. Leaning forward, Voldemort's crimson eyes seemed to radiate ominously. "You," he breathed deeply before sweeping away.

Izar stood stupidly for a moment before narrowing his eyes.

"By the way, child," Voldemort called from the exit. Nagini was already maneuvering her large bulk across the room in hypnotizing waves. "I find it rather amiable that you are formulating a plan to escape the premises with your little blond pets. But if you go through with it, I'm afraid your hopes in participating in the battle at the end of the year will be smothered."

The Black heir listened carefully as the Dark Lord walked the twisting corridors before giving a sly smile. Voldemort claimed Izar would be banned from contributing in the battle if he chose to escape the premises with Draco and Daphne. And Izar was more than sure the man would go through with it. However, Izar had no intention of going to Knockturn Alley with Malfoy. No, his plans laid elsewhere. And in turn, it would not qualify under Voldemort's threat.

Words could be twisted so easily and implied so differently.

Izar loved it.

**{Death of Today}**

The night was just as beautiful as it was last year. The snow wasn't as deep as last year's but there was enough to cover the dead grass beneath. And just like last year, the magic out tonight was _stunning_. Izar eyed the small golden orbs as they emerged from the ground and floated upward into the luminous stars. Izar reached out to touch one magic orb, smiling as it tickled his skin and passed through his body.

The magic in the air was the source of the boisterousness coursing through the wizards and witches. For just this one night, they were honored with feeling the overpowering sensation of magic—something Izar could feel every day. And yet, he never took it for granted. Magic was something he had always respected, no matter the use, and no matter if it was Light or Dark.

He lowered his arm, staring at the Yule log up in flames. The vivid purple and orange flames were almost as tall as the tree branches, yet were in no danger of burning down the forest. The Death Eaters were talking amongst themselves, cheering wickedly at the sight of three dozen or so wizards with bags over their heads. From the wild rumors going around, Voldemort and a few of his trusted followers had kidnapped well-known wizards in Britain.

It was said that Amelia Bones was among the captives, a few worthy Aurors, and of course, some older men from the Wizengamot among other prominent figures. It was no wonder why the Death Eaters kept pushing themselves to get in the front of the line. Only the powerful and fittest got their meal, correct?

"I don't intend to hold you here long. The evening is young and we have more than enough prey for the worthy Death Eaters," Voldemort announced his presence regally. At his arrival, the Death Eaters toned down their murmuring but continued to whisper amongst each other—far too high in the magic to become silent.

Izar took quick note of the dark red robes of the Dark Lord. Of course, none of the other Death Eaters would take much notice of the Dark Lord's ensemble; their attention was on the man's radiant aura and the prey lined vulnerably to the side of the clearing. The captives' auras were pulsating with fear and adrenaline, fit and ready to run.

"Last year," the Dark Lord continued quietly. "We hunted here in secret, with useless Muggles as our intended prey. Tonight we have dignified and privileged enemies who _can _fight back. With an anti-apparition ward surrounding the woods, you will have more than enough fun for as long as you wish it. It is just but a small gift I can present to all of you."

The Death Eaters began physically elbowing one another in glee. Izar stood at the far back, watching the exchanges with open amusement. Keeping them any longer and Voldemort will have Death Eaters down by their own comrades' wands.

"On my word, you may hunt as you please," Voldemort chuckled as he released the prisoners' restraints and bags over their heads.

Izar caught an eyeful of recognizable wizards, but they ran before he could take proper note. Exactly what the Death Eaters wanted. Izar found his legs jerking in the direction of the sprinting wizards, finding it slightly appealing to go after them. Unlike the Muggles last year, these wizards and witches had a way to defend themselves. A chase could be fun, but Voldemort had his own plans for Izar tonight.

"Go."

Voldemort enjoyed the sight before him far too much as the Death Eaters scrambled after the running prey. Izar caught sight of a blond ponytail disappearing into the thick trees and wished he could watch the aristocratic Lucius Malfoy torture his victims. The man was said to be brutal and creative, an enemy no one wished to have opposite them.

Izar clenched and unclenched his fingers as he now stood opposite of a leering Dark Lord. The man's hair was loose tonight, wild and untamed in the mild breeze. The blue-black waves were manipulated skillfully by the wind to veil most of the man's expression, save for the hungry red eyes and the thin lips parted in a dangerous smile. Slowly, the two began to circle one another.

"I want you," Voldemort hissed hoarsely as his eyes drilled holes into Izar's face. His lithe body was coiled, ready to pounce on command, yet he remained on his side of the circle.

Izar only offered the man a coy smile in return, enjoying the effect he had on the Dark Lord.

"But I cannot be so selfish. I intended to present my gift to you, so I shall." Voldemort forcibly pulled his predatorily posture together, standing still and stiff. He clasped his hands behind his back but continued to watch Izar with a heated stare. "Do you not smell it, Izar? That fear? The complete sense of solemnity?"

The Black heir stood opposite of Voldemort, hesitantly inhaling the air. Now that the multiple of bodies had left, Izar could clearly smell Voldemort and…

He shot around, squinting into the woods surrounding the clearing. A lone body stood next to a tree trunk, shaking with fear and hopelessness. The bag was still over the head, but Izar knew exactly who stood near him. "Impossible," Izar breathed, turning back to look at the smug Dark Lord. "But I thought he was hidden by the Ministry."

"He would have been if I hadn't abducted him the night of the Unspeakable attack." Within an instant, Voldemort was standing beside Conner Oran, taking off the black sack around the boy's head.

Oran blinked open his eyes, offering a strangled cry when he spied Voldemort leaning in close. Izar slowly approached the two, both impressed with Voldemort for thinking so far advanced and thrilled at having Oran _here_. Yet, the boy looked pathetic, wretched. There was no fight in that awkward body as it tried to arch as far as it could away from the Dark Lord. It was a slight turnoff for Izar to imagine torturing the boy. No matter how screwed up the boy was for creating a device to strip magic, he had been twisted and pulled by both Scrimgeour and Dumbledore.

"The boy has an interesting mind, really," Voldemort mused, reaching forward and grasping Oran's chin. "A mind of a remarkably intelligent man, but not yet a mind of a prodigy. If anything, a mind of a growing child—too immature to be considered an adult. He has all these _ideas _inside his head but he doesn't use them to their fullest potential. It's just as you claimed, Izar. He needs to be pulled by the hand."

Voldemort smiled thinly at Conner and then to an observant Izar. "And then there are the desires I've stumbled across so easily. Desires that are _far _from a child's mind and more like a twisted and sick man."

Here, Oran struggled harder against Voldemort, trying to rip his head from the spidery fingers. The human was breathing harshly through his nose, hate clouding his eyes. Izar had a premonition where this was going and steeled himself. Voldemort was a possessive man and his desire to torture Oran was most likely far stronger than Izar's.

"Oh yes," Voldemort chuckled menacingly. "How he wants you, child."

"I'm aware," Izar interrupted. Voldemort's smile faltered and he sneered at Izar, his fingers still clutching Oran's chin. "I'd rather not hear the details." It was if Izar sucked out all the fun in Voldemort's demeanor that the man slowly turned cold and volatile.

"Is that so?" Voldemort turned back to Conner, assessing the boy closely. "You were aware of how he touched himself to the thought of you beneath him? He did so quite frequently, Izar. In fact, he had fantasies about fucking you from behind in the Department of Mysteries. He grew gleeful at the thought of your reputation as a respectable Black tarnishing by sleeping with a _Mudblood._"

Izar breathed deeply, realizing that Voldemort was too far gone in his quench for spilling blood. Actually, Conner Oran had debuted as Izar's gift but the boy was quickly turning into Voldemort's prize. Rather amusing, really. Izar couldn't care a less about Oran or about who killed him. As long as the boy was _dead_, it didn't matter who slashed the wand and finished the deed. Though, he was a bit insulted at how engrossed Voldemort was with the boy and seemed to all but ignore him.

"You have outdone yourself, My Lord," Izar noted, his tone dripping in sarcasm. "Why don't you kill him in my stead? You'd do a far better job of it than I would."

Voldemort barely spared Izar a glance as he turned his full attention back on a struggling Oran. Suddenly, the boy became limp and his nose began to bleed. Izar took a step back, watching in curiosity as Voldemort carried out his revenge.

Oran suddenly began screaming piercingly, his eyes wide and focused on unforeseeable enemies. The Dark Lord was doing some sort of Legilimency, destroying the boy's mind cruelly. Izar had always found himself jealous over Snape and the Dark Lord and their flawless Legilimency and Occlumency. After the Cygnus attack, Izar found out why _he _couldn't be a Master of the Mind and it both upset and relieved him.

Voldemort chuckled, dropping Oran to the ground. The boy lay in a curled ball, weeping and pleading. Izar sneered at the sight, finding it distasteful. How could anyone enjoy torture on such vulnerable and pathetic creatures like this? Izar's motive for dealing with weak wizards like Conner would be a quick death. Other wizards who fought until their last dying breath would deserve a slower and more painful death. It was perhaps a backwards logic. But the more Izar's enemy fought him and challenged him, the more excited the Black heir grew over the idea of bloodshed.

But this?

He gave a sidelong glance at Voldemort, realizing the man was delighted. He had his wand out, seemingly debating which method of torture he'd like to use next.

Before Izar could stop the proceedings, Voldemort jerked his wand upward, causing a sharp snap to sound from Oran's back. The boy gagged as his rib broke and he whimpered. But the Dark Lord was far from finished. With another twitch of his wand, Oran's neck was forced back and his mouth shot open forcibly. The boy's tongue began to slowly creep out under Voldemort's influence.

Izar considered this. The Dark Lord was performing nonverbal magic. In fact, the man's aura was thrumming with an overwhelming quantity of power—it was suffocating. It seemed when Voldemort was focused and determined, his magic peaked. But his focus wasn't under control. It was dangerously focused, blind to his surroundings. Izar had pointed out this fault to the Dark Lord once and the man had icily dismissed it.

The proof was all here.

Oran gave a muffled scream as his tongue detached itself, blood pouring from the sides of his mouth. The tongue lay uselessly next to him and Izar eyed it, thinking it would have been longer.

Voldemort then made a deep abrasion across Oran's torso, revealing the innards and intestines. Izar finally had enough when the foul smell hit him. "My Lord," he called. The man only chuckled in response.

Izar reached forward, catching the man's jaw with his fingers. "I grow tired of this," he whispered, inching closer to the powerful body. Voldemort made a move to push away from Izar, but the younger wizard held on tighter. "It's me you want, isn't it?" he stroked Voldemort's jawline, smiling in delight as the crimson eyes slowly turned from Conner's bleeding form and on to him. "Yes…" Izar purred, leaning in close to the man's ear. Attentively, he stroked the outer shell of the earlobe with his tongue but quickly backed up as Voldemort made a move to grab him.

The Dark Lord, still in his lust for torture, growled harshly. "Don't play with me." The man took another grab at Izar, but the smaller moved out of the way once again.

"You can't have everything so easily, can you?" Izar mocked. "Besides, I need my fun tonight. When you're done with him, perhaps you can find me."

Knowing it was a risky move to make, Izar turned his back on the Dark Lord and lazily made his way deeper into the woods. He was well aware of the eyes watching his every move and adjusted his ears to stay open for a possible attack from behind.

As soon as he heard the sharp _crack _from Oran's neck, Izar took off quickly. It was difficult to hear, but he was conscious of Voldemort following him quickly. While they were bred from the same creatures, they both had a different creature dominating their features and qualities. Voldemort had the majority of the Basilisk, making him stronger than Izar, while Izar had the quickness of the Fae.

Izar dodged through the trees, his mind bringing him back to last year. It had been similar then, only, Voldemort and he had been on two completely different levels. Izar had been human and slightly uncomfortable with being Voldemort's center of attention. Now though, they were familiar with one another. They _knew _the other better than anyone else could ever hope to.

The chuckle following at his heels confirmed that Voldemort was still in his bloodlust haze. Which meant that Izar had a chance of reversing this chase and he would do so in order to prove to Voldemort how foolish he was when he tortured. After all, it was their job to keep the other on their toes, was it not?

He slipped out his wand as he turned a sharp corner and hastily cast a revised Mirroring Charm at himself. Placing his back against the tree bark, Izar watched as a figure wearing white robes continued to sprint in the woods. Soon after, Izar watched closely as Voldemort ran after it.

"Fool," Izar whispered before taking off after the Dark Lord. His eyes dilated with pleasure at the prey now before him. This chase was better than any gift Voldemort could possible imagine giving.

Pushing himself quicker, Izar came within touching distance of the Dark Lord. Before the man could hear him, Izar leaped, a wide grin stretching his lips. His claws exposed from their glamour, embedding in Voldemort's shoulders.

The two went down heavily. Izar chuckled with delight, placing his mouth on top of Voldemort's ear. "In where the predator becomes the prey," he sang, repeating the words Voldemort had used on him last year.

Voldemort lashed out, never resembling a hostile creature more than he did currently. Izar grunted as he got the brunt of the attack across his chest, landing a few yards away. He closed his eyes, realizing that it was partially his fault for encouraging Voldemort's bloodlust with the chase. And while Izar knew their sex would never be tender or soft, he didn't want _this _Voldemort to be the one in charge. It would be brutal and against his consent.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He went limp and remained lying on his back, refusing to encourage this Voldemort any longer. His eyes took in the Dark Lord a few feet from him as the man crouched down low, staring at Izar but not seeing him.

The red eyes slowly began to change from the brutal Dark Lord to the intelligent man Izar knew him to be. Silence spread between the two, both understanding what had transpired but doing nothing to address it. Izar knew what it was like to uncover a weakness. He had done so countless of times throughout the years. It was mind-blowing, crushing, and uncomfortable. For the Dark Lord to come to terms with his weaknesses, it must be a blow to his ego.

Izar sat up, offering the Dark Lord an impish smirk. He could have rubbed salt on the man's wound, but chose to go the opposite route. And people claimed he was not considerate… "Are we finished for the night?" He stood up; brushing down the green and white robes Voldemort insisted he wear. "Because I have a few things to—"

A hand curled possessively around his ankle before pulling. Izar gave an intake of air as he found himself falling into the snow on his arse. The hand continued to pull at his ankle, bringing him closer to the dark figure of Voldemort. "I am not through with you yet, love."

Voldemort hovered above him, his hands now placed on either side of Izar's face before he leaned down to kiss him.

Izar opened his eyes in the kiss, not liking where this was going. The Dark Lord was almost awkward in his motions; he was far too gentle, far too lenient and safe, and trying in vain to make up for his bloodlust with tender conduct.

The Black heir violently hooked his legs around the Dark Lord's waist, twisting them around abruptly. He chuckled in Voldemort's face as he sat straddled on the man's lap. "I'm not going to lie down on my back again," he challenged conceitedly. His fingernails embedded in Voldemort's blood-red robes, ripping the material as he raked his hands down the thin body.

He was simply showing the Dark Lord that _he _was calling the shots. Having someone infringe on his control would make Voldemort snap out of his damned pity-party. And just as Izar was about to go any lower with his fingers, Voldemort reached out and encircled his wrists. "Tonight is not the night."

Izar blinked, startled forcibly from his thoughts. "Excuse me?"

Voldemort continued to keep Izar prisoner by the wrists and his eyes were closed to any emotion. "Neither of us is in the right temperament for this. You must see this. It cannot be forced lifelessly."

The Black heir stared. While he understood where the man was coming from, he found himself feeling somewhat rejected. Rejection wasn't something Izar had experienced for quite some time. They were both men, were they not? Voldemort was _always _in the mood for sex. And yet, there was no evidence of arousal coming from the Dark Lord. Quite frankly, Izar, too, was far from aroused.

"I thought you planned on this tonight," he spoke lightly, almost child-like.

The Dark Lord's lips twitched. "You cannot _plan _on something like this, child."

Humiliation spread hot across Izar, but he hid it remarkably well. "Of course not." He ripped his wrists from the overpowering hold and stood up. He did all he could to avoid the gaze leveled on his face as he turned and began to walk toward the Malfoy Manor.

Before he escaped completely, Izar turned his heel suddenly, pointing a finger at the rising Dark Lord. "You've seen me at my worst." Izar lowered his arm, throwing his shoulders back and lifting his chin like a proud pure-blood. "You know each and every weakness I have. It's normal that you would see all of my weaknesses first, as you are more experienced with spying them. But you had to realize the closer we became, the more weaknesses I would see of _yours_."

Voldemort eyed Izar with quiet disdain. It was proof enough that Voldemort _had _been distancing himself from Izar because he had been disgraced—something that Voldemort most likely hadn't experienced in his adult life.

"Don't think you can push me away because I saw your weakness firsthand tonight. You think it will make me forget? It will only serve to anger me." Izar took a step backward, irritated with the Dark Lord. "We have an eternity together, Tom. _You've _decided that. Tonight will, by no means, be the last time I see you at your worst. You must decide if this is what you want. Because if it isn't, I need to know so I can stop wasting my time and effort."

Izar challenged the man with his eyes, not backing down even at the receiving end of a hostile stare. "You are no god, My Lord. Stop believing you are invincible. Maybe then you can start obtaining everything you hoped to."

Making certain there would be no attack from the Dark Lord, Izar whirled around and began to make his way back to the Malfoy Manor.

* * *

{**Notes**} You've seen a vulnerable side of the Dark Lord. It was going to happen eventually. He *is* human… or… well, you know. Next chapter, Lily/James/Sirius interaction with Izar. Perhaps a bit of a Bellatrix/Izar conversation and maybe a bit of trouble on Izar's end from a hunting Rufus.


	57. Part II Chapter 25

A _very _small Voldemort POV and Izar and his rather childish games… *sigh*  
_Thanks for taking the time to review last chapter!__ Also, a special thanks to Phaenilix for gifting me with a drawing of Izar ;)_

_Warning: Grammar errors. Lots and lots of them *evil laughter*_

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

"And who are _you _impressing today, Mr. Black?"

Izar smirked at his pocket watch, studying the second hand as it slowly ticked away the moments. A lazy hand rested in the pocket of his black slacks while his other hand carelessly snapped the pocket watch shut. He thought he looked rather brilliant today, no arrogance intended. Black slacks matched the dressy, yet informal suit vest he wore over a casual white shirt with its sleeves rolled messily to the middle of his forearms. No robes or cloaks were worn today.

While it wasn't unusual that wizards excluded robes from their wardrobe, it wasn't done frequently by him. His state of dress was recognizable and that was exactly what he _wanted_.

"You, Lucius," Izar purred. Turning, he tucked his pocket watch into his vest. "Is it working?"

Lucius had on a cool smile but his eyes were smoldering with delight. "Undoubtedly." The man swept his silver cane in the opposite hand as he reached out and placed his gloved hand between Izar's shoulder blades. "Come, our festivities are soon coming to a close. You must appease Bella and sit with her for breakfast."

Izar scoffed. "Has she been unbearable?"

Malfoy offered Izar a raised eyebrow. "If only you knew. She is much easier to handle if she has you to distract her."

The two made their way into the back of the manor. The grounds were quiet and cold as the trampled snow glittered off the sun's rays. It was unusually quiet in the backyard as many of the guests either left for the holiday or were too exhausted from last night to face the morning sun. Izar quietly mused that if things went _accordingly _last night, he would still be wrapped in the luxurious sheets Lucius provided for his guests.

But things hadn't been what he expected. Izar had seen Voldemort's weakness and vulnerability for the first time. It had been awkward on both their behalves but Izar had recovered faster than the Dark Lord had. He had brushed it off as something that was _human_, something that every person went through. It was silly of him to think it could be done so simply. Voldemort wouldn't and couldn't forget what transpired and he pushed Izar away as a result.

Things would never be simple between the two of them. Izar knew that with clarity. What he didn't understand is why Voldemort believed he would always be seen as a divinity in Izar's eyes. They were closer than any other had ever gotten to them before. They would remain close and Izar knew Voldemort had to finally face that last night.

Surely the man had stayed up all night, musing over the incident. Izar could see him pacing or brooding darkly in his unlit rooms. He liked to think that he knew Voldemort enough to know the man was debating his next step.

In the beginning, when Izar was just fourteen and they had met at the Ministry ball, Voldemort most likely debated what path to take. He could have either ignored Izar, keeping a heavy watch over his safety anonymously, or he could have approached him. The man chose the latter, must likely out of possessiveness and arrogance and had foolishly turned a blind eye to the consequences down his chosen path. Did the man truly think they wouldn't grow closer over the years?

Whatever the man's track of mind back then, Voldemort had come to the sudden conclusion that they were destined to know one another from the inside out. And in turn, Voldemort had two decisions to make.

He would distance himself from Izar, slowly and slyly cutting ties before it consumed them both. Or he would pull Izar harder, growing more protective and possessive over the one individual that held the secrets to his downfall.

Personally, Izar hadn't analyzed his feelings over the two different outcomes. He conveniently pushed away what his emotions were in order to gauge what Voldemort was thinking.

Another one of his weaknesses, he supposed. He refused to think on issues that dealt with his unstable emotions. It took him a long while to finally come to terms with Lily and his… odd devotion of her. He had to work past his forgiveness of her and what she had done to realize that he held a somewhat glimmer of affection beneath his bitterness.

"Most of the Inner-Circle members are not too pleased with you," Lucius murmured softly as the climbed the stairs to the First Tier platform.

The Dark Lord was present, his face a perfect mask of indifference. Around him, his loyal subjects grew quiet when they noticed his approach with Lucius. Luckily, all thirteen were not present. The Lestranges, Barty Crouch Jr., Evelyn Mulciber, and the eldest McNair were the few who were making appraisal of Izar.

"I don't know why this surprises you, Lucius," Izar mused in pleasure. "What did I do now?"

"You will be informed shortly, I'm sure. The Dark Lord has already addressed it with the Inner-Circle." Lucius otherwise remained tight-lipped on the subject, yet there was a greedy curl to his lips.

Izar let it pass, only because they had come to a stop in front of the tense and silent table. "My Lord," Izar greeted with a quick bow, avoiding eye contact. An odd sensation rippled through his stomach now that he was in the man's presence once again. It was similar to anger, he realized, for being treated so dismissively last night.

"Mr. Black," Voldemort murmured back in greeting but otherwise remained unemotional. The eyes were boring into the side of his head, relentlessly peeling back Izar's defenses and seeing everything beneath.

Before Izar could sit between Lucius and Bellatrix, a wrinkled _Prophet _slid across the table, coming to a crooked stop in front of him. His eyes absorbed a photograph on page four of his father and, oddly enough, Aiden. It was a small article, one that most likely didn't have enough information to gather a juicer story. Apparently, Regulus had formally adopted Aiden.

"You forgot to mention your little _brother_," Mulciber chuckled coldly.

Izar flicked the paper back at Mulciber and sat down uncaringly as the _Prophet _spun and sloshed the man's tea. "I suppose it must have slipped my mind…" He ignored the many eyes on him as he took a piece of warm toast and plucked the knife up. He smirked as he applied a generous amount of butter.

"A Mudblood," Rabastan picked up the interrogation. He was usually a silent spectator, but this morning, his aura seemed unnaturally peeved. In fact, most the members around the table were tense and ruffled. "Does this mean you're going to have to give up that ring on your finger?"

Izar paused in slathering his butter in order to gaze at the Black ring on his finger. The dark azure sapphires sparkled amongst charcoal-like gems as they surrounded the Black crest. It was a handsome ring and it differed from the other Black family rings due to the fact that it was worn by the heir of the family.

"Don't be silly, Rabastan," Bellatrix answered her brother-in-law. A warm hand wrapped around Izar's neck as Bellatrix pulled him closer and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. "Izar is the first Black in his family to carry the name with pride. You're not a true Black until you're wanted by the law. Isn't that right, nephew?"

The Black heir spun the rack of jam noisily, taking his sweet time in picking out a flavor. "Actually, while I do agree with you, Bella, I plan on presenting this ring to Aiden when he's old enough to hold the title. I deemed him acceptable enough to pass on our line. My interests lie elsewhere than securing a functional family." He gave a satisfied grunt when he stopped the rack and pulled out the strawberry jam.

Bellatrix's hand removed itself from his neck as she sat back, disgusted. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't. Even if his situation was different and he didn't have an overbearing Dark Lord as a lover, he probably wouldn't have settled down with a wife to make a family. He was too unstable—too interested in inventions and his own well-being. He didn't want to be like Cygnus and ignore his children unless he needed them as lab rats.

"I find your logic rather refreshing," a surprising Death Eater spoke up.

Izar glanced at Barty Crouch Jr. from the corner of his eye, noticing the handsome man was picking apart a buttered croissant. There was mutual dislike between Izar and Barty. But there was also a new sentiment in Crouch's eyes as he met Izar's stare. The dislike was still there, yet there was also grudging respect.

"You would be a terrible father," Barty concluded as reasoning.

Izar bit greedily into his toast in order to smother a chuckle. He knew damn well that Barty and the man's father were at the other end of the battlefield. Barty Crouch Senior was a work-relented man. It was likely that he was never around for his son when the boy was growing up. And from what Izar heard, Barty's mother had a terminal illness and died when her son was young.

While Izar knew Barty's real reason for agreeing with his declaration of not having a family, he kept it silent.

"Nonetheless," Rabastan picked up from where he left off. "You must have been one large embarrassment to your father for him to choose a _Mudblood _as his successor." The man gave a sick smile. "Have the many years of interbreeding in the Black line finally caught up to your lot? Are you so infertile that you had to get fresh sperm from a Mudblood boy?"

"_Rabastan_," Lucius spat, growing pink at the cheekbones.

It was a very large insult to pure-bloods when their fertility was in question. Izar was a half-blood and hadn't been raised by Regulus, and yet, it still stung his pride. "My sperm is fresh enough," Izar drawled, seemingly not at all insulted. He set down his piece of toast and opened the strawberry jam again.

Rather brutally, he stabbed the jam and slathered the red substance more heavily across his defenseless toast.

"Then that only leaves one other option," the man continued. "You must be a fag, hmm? A pretty boy such as yourself must enjoy cock…"

Fingers tapped harshly on the table, bringing attention to a surly Dark Lord. Red eyes were narrowed into slits as they watched Rabastan hungrily. "Our previous discussion before Mr. Black arrived should be fresh in your mind, Rabastan. Do not think that just because I have chosen Dolohov as the unfortunate member that I cannot change my decision. Your words are not only vulgar, but your sense of maturity leaves much to be desired. If you insult, do so with dignity."

Rabastan paled dramatically, his eyes dilating in fear. "No, no, My Lord—"

"There is no need to scream in order to get your intentions heard, Rabastan," Izar hissed darkly. He placed his knife down and stood up gracefully.

He didn't want to deal with this, he didn't _need _to. With the Dark Lord being a stubborn prick and Lestrange a jealous idiot, Izar found it rather tiresome. His intention for this morning was already accomplished; he felt no need to stick around.

As he circled the table to exit the platform, he paused to lean down next Rabastan's ear. Dark amusement guided Izar's hand to cover Rabastan's cheek as his lips brushed scarcely across the man's ear. "If you just wanted a rump in the sheets with me, you could have approached me in private," he whispered quietly. With glee, he watched as the man's cheeks stained red. Straightening, he continued in a louder tone. "It hasn't escaped my attention that you are not married."

Rabastan scrambled out of his chair, his cold eyes hot in fury. Izar remained motionless, raising his chin in defiance as the man advanced closer. Neither of them got to throw any curses, for a delicate hand wrapped around Izar's wrist and pulled him quickly off the platform.

"It would be best not to infuriate the Dark Lord any more than necessary," Bellatrix informed sharply. "He is not in a very good mood today."

"I can't imagine why," Izar mused dryly. "He is _always_ in a good mood."

The two continued to walk out from the weather-protected deck and onto the crisp snow. Izar found himself stepping into an old track of footsteps as they neared the tree line. Bellatrix continued to lead him, her curly black locks being teased by the light wind. Her high-heeled boots easily tunneled a path through the snow as she ignored the already worn-out path.

Before Izar could insist where they were going, she stopped. They were a good distance away from the others but not far enough to be unseen.

She kept her back turned to Izar as she dropped his wrist. He eyed her tightening fists and knew where this was heading. Aiden.

"I don't know whether to believe if the Black reputation was better off without you and Regulus making an entrance or if it's thriving with your sudden existence two years ago." She offered Izar a look of disdain over her bony shoulder. "I find it _insulting _to our family what you did. You think me foolish? I know that… _child _was the product of our Lord's fury the night during the raid at Godric's Hollow."

Izar stood in silence. It was tempting to tell Bellatrix it was none of her business. In fact, he found himself leaning in that direction but decided he needed _some _allies within the Dark Lord's rank. Bellatrix wasn't the best witch to have standing opposite of him. Besides, he enjoyed her too much.

"Cygnus' Curse never turned out to be necromancy, Bellatrix." Izar began. "It turned out to be a way for Cygnus to possess me and use my body as means as immortality. The only reason I survived the possession is because our Lord performed Legilimency on me and forced Cygnus out from my mind. Cygnus' spirit is still functional. If I continue on the Black line, one of my children or grandchildren could be possessed by Cygnus. I cannot have that. Hence the reason why Regulus adopted a child."

He watched her carefully and she veiled her expression just as carefully. Though, Izar was sharp enough to catch the slight intrigue and wicked humor dancing in Bellatrix's eyes. He knew she would find Cygnus' acts as acceptable, if not entertaining. Izar would have if he hadn't been the intended victim.

"A generous act from the Dark Lord to save you," Bellatrix agreed. "But I don't approve of the Mudblood."

Izar placed his fists into his pockets, slouching in a way that it appeared arrogant. "Naturally," he quipped. "However, the boy has gifts that will aid our cause if needed. And he was also treated unfairly by his family. Despite the fact that he is a Mudblood, he will grow to despise Muggles. A child's mind can be so easily poisoned with our beliefs."

Bellatrix sighed dramatically and slowly turned her heel to circle Izar. Her arms then suddenly wrapped around his waist, pulling his back against her ample chest. Placing her cheek against his shoulder blades, Bellatrix chuckled. "You are ingenious, my nephew. I don't like this, but I will keep quiet in my contempt."

He was stiff in her arms, finding little enjoyment in the physical touch. Looking over his shoulder, he met her eyes. The onyx gaze was watching him in mischief. "Is there something you are forbidden to tell me but are finding it difficult to keep it secret?" Izar asked in false boredom.

"Yes," Bellatrix gave a loud cackle, reaching up to caress Izar's cheeks with her long fingernails. There was a possessive gleam in her eyes. "It's only what you rightfully deserve. After your father's abandonment, we need to stick together, Izar…" she purred in a raspy whisper. "Blacks are far more powerful with their kin at their back. Remember that, my sweet."

She wouldn't indulge in the secret, he knew. If Voldemort had asked Bellatrix to keep it quiet, she would do so loyally. Her loyalty to the Dark Lord knew no bounds and Izar knew when it was a lost cause to pry.

He would know eventually. And in the meantime, he needed to get things organized for tonight.

Charmed green and charcoal eyes clashed with onyx. Both Blacks shared a twisted smile.

**{Death of Today}**

Draco stood stiffly in the gardens of his manor, aware of Greengrass standing uncomfortably behind him. It was ten o'clock and Black had yet to show his face. The boy had a brilliant mind, though, Draco would admit to that. He knew Black was forbidden to leave the Manor grounds and, in turn, the younger wizard had come up with a plan that would make security busy with the number of people entering and exiting.

Upstairs, near the parlor, there was currently a party going on for a number of Hogwarts students. Draco had contacted as many students as he could think of to allow on the Malfoy perimeter for a gathering. Lucius hadn't been too thrilled with the arrangement, but his father hadn't been able to do anything about it before it was too late.

Daphne and he had snuck out from the party, escaping into the gardens undetected.

"He's not coming," Draco murmured softly. "This was a set-up for him to escape the property himself. By _himself._"

"Hush," Daphne scolded, motioning toward the cloaked figure quietly moving toward them.

Draco recognized the black slacks and black vest of Izar's ensemble from today. Though, there was now a cloak clasped around his neck with the hood drawn. Before Draco could snarl at the boy for keeping him waiting, Black placed a finger to his lips to silence them.

Arrogant bastard.

Draco breathed harshly through his nose as he reluctantly followed the tall wizard toward the woods. Obviously, they were going to try to get past the guards and to the Apparition point. He just hoped they would get past undetected. Black had to have an ingenious plan.

Didn't he?

**{Death of Today}**

Izar sneezed wetly in his hand as he approached the two guards standing on either side of the gate. Lucius Malfoy wasn't allowing _anyone _to enter or exit without identification. While Izar could have stunned a fellow student from Draco's party and disguised himself as them, he found that plan far too risky. He had no Polyjuice Potion and creating a false identification card in the Wizarding World was almost impossible—and incredibly time-consuming.

_So, _he had come up with a decent alternative. After watching the two guards change rotation at the front gate, Izar had made his move.

"Identification," one of the guards drawled in immense boredom as Izar advanced. They were Death Eaters dressed in normal civilian clothes, lacking their metallic masks and tempers for the night. It was amusing, really, to know they had to act as babysitters for the guests coming inside and out. Around the woods, Izar was aware of the heavy security. All of them were warned to keep a look out for Izar Black.

In fact, Voldemort would have likely prevented Izar from escaping if the man wasn't hiding in his rooms, sulking. It would have made everything so much more fun if the Dark Lord was sharp and prepared. Instead, he sent his men to do the work.

Pity.

Izar pulled at his bright red hair as he dug through his jean pockets. A yellow sweater dressed his thin body, clashing horribly against his charmed hair. He sniffed loudly, wetly, well aware of the disgusted eyes on him as he searched his pockets.

"I…" Izar paused, pushing up his thick glasses. He breathed horribly through his nose, imitating a boy who had severe allergies. "I have it here somewhere." He searched his pockets again, not pausing to cover his mouth as he forced a sneeze.

Where the _hell _were they?

He gazed into the woods near the manor, trying to search for the three figures that were oddly absent.

"Here it is!" Izar claimed in triumph as he passed the plastic card toward the Death Eater on the right.

The man grimaced as he looked at the card, not inclined to take if from his hands. Just before the other Death Eater on the left made a grab for it, Izar pulled it back, offering a heaving chuckle. "No, sorry, that's not it." He grinned crookedly at the guards, his shoulders slumped self-consciously. "That's my girlfriend's photo. A pretty model."

"Identification," the man growled impatiently.

They were both too easy. Izar knew the Death Eaters would find it as an insult to keep track of adolescents who entered and exited the gates of the Malfoy Manor. They would also underestimate him if he was to act harmless. And above all else, they would also believe Izar Black would never use the front gate.

The Death Eaters must hate him tonight.

Izar just found it thrilling.

He bowed his head, turning inside his pockets and watching as a snotty handkerchief fell to the sidewalk. Ungracefully, he fell to his knees, dropping his glasses in the process. To the right, he could hear sudden scuffling and curses emerging from the woods. He hid his smile as he watched Draco, Daphne, and Nott being dragged from the trees. Thankfully, Nott's hood was still drawn, veiling his features from the Death Eaters. They would all believe Theodore Nott to be Izar, dressed smartly and in the company of Draco and Daphne.

The Death Eaters standing near the gates chuckled nastily, catching sight of the three teens being hauled into the manor.

"Get up off the ground," the brown-haired man growled. He toed Izar's shoulder with his boot.

Izar gave a hopeless groan. "I _know _I have my identification someplace. I… I know…" he stood up and pushed up his glasses with a single finger.

"Get out," a Death Eater growled, taking him by the sweater and tossing him past the threshold. After all, they saw Izar Black being dragged into the Malfoy Manor. It wasn't possible that this redhead wizard was the proud and sophisticated Black heir.

Izar stumbled on the toe of his worn sneakers, throwing out his hands for balance. The Death Eaters chuckled heartlessly behind him, making snide and cruel comments. Izar only continued down the sidewalk, a wicked smile stretching his lips painfully.

That had been exciting, he supposed. But also a bit disappointing.

He just hoped Lily and James proved more of a challenge tonight, even if it was just conversational.

**{Death of Today}**

"Enter," Voldemort ordered after the sharp rap sounded on his door. His musings were calmly collected and set aside in order to concentrate on the task at hand.

Pushing himself away from the balcony railing, he turned to watch Severus Snape enter his rooms. Brilliant red eyes narrowed sharply. The dark-haired man was anxious tonight. Because it was Severus, Voldemort had to look closely at the tense shoulders and the fingers that twitched ever-so slightly.

"My Lord," Severus greeted in control. He bowed deeply at the waist, holding his position until he deemed it respectable enough before straightening. "I have come to inform you of a grave discovery." Severus reached up and pushed away the two oil-streaked bangs from his face. "Izar Black stands in the middle of it."

Voldemort schooled his features with ease. "When doesn't he, Severus?" he asked in amusement.

Severus bowed his head before falling to his knees. "Dumbledore has reason to suspect that Izar Black is a vampire."

_Ah_, yes. It was expected to come out eventually, no matter the tight restrain he put on the matter. "Is that so?" he mused softly. "And just how did the old man come to that… contemptible conclusion?" Half his mind watched Severus while the other began racing with possible moves, possible steps of the game, and possible _leaks_. Surely Izar hadn't confided in another about his status of a creature.

Unless… the boy's _father_. Voldemort hissed softly, a cruel hunger cooling his stomach. His eyes absorbed Severus obsessively, more amused with the man than anything as he looked for signs that would prove his suspicions. This revelation was not surprising. Dumbledore would have eventually begun to suspect Izar Black was not a normal human. Though, no matter how anticipated this was, it was not welcome.

By _any _means.

"Acelin Morel," Severus answered, his head bowed. "I have reason to believe the Dark Lady Marjolaine informed Dumbledore that Morel turned Izar the night of the boy's failed assassination attack in France."

"The boy did not fail, Severus." Voldemort whispered lethally. He then chuckled. "When did the old fool believe that Izar Black did not kill Acelin Morel? If what you say is true and Marjolaine did contact Dumbledore with the story you claim, then I can accept as much. However. If this story is fabricated, I can only _imagine _where it derived from." He leaned down, lifting the young wizard's chin. "Are you loyal to me or Dumbledore, Severus?"

"You, My Lord," the boy responded without hesitation.

Voldemort smiled thinly. He couldn't sense any lies coming from the boy, but a skilled Occlumens had the ability to hide from Voldemort. "That may be true, and I believe it to be true." He gazed into the younger man's stoic eyes. "Then answer this. Are you loyal to me or Regulus Black?"

He didn't let the boy answer.

"I consider you loyal to me, Severus. But you never got over the fact that I ordered Regulus Black to be executed those many years ago, did you? You may have been loyal sixteen years ago, but you went out of your way to assist Black in escaping—going against my orders. I believe you have committed another detour from your loyalty by assisting Black before his knowledge destroyed him."

Voldemort continued to grip the man's jaw, his temper getting the better of him. "You witnessed Black's mind when he was in a healing coma and spied the information. You knew if I was aware of the information he obtained that I would kill him. Therefore, you go to Dumbledore and spill the information, hoping that I would believe Morel had a hand in this, not Regulus Black. Sadly, you underestimated me, Severus. And you have disappointed me _greatly_."

A sharp knock sounded. Voldemort snarled, throwing Severus away with a sickened shove. The door to his rooms opened at his will, allowing six figures entrance. The Dark Lord stood stiffly as he observed the two blondes and a figure dressed in Izar's earlier ensemble.

He was not fooled, nor amused.

"My Lord," one of the Death Eaters gasped. "We have captured these three at your command. They were nearing the border—"

Voldemort reached forward, ripping the hood off the middle figure to reveal the anxious face of Theodore Nott.

"My Lord," Nott whispered pathetically, his hand trembling as he reached into his pocket. "I… we were only going to the Weird Sisters concert."

Voldemort ignored the three tickets thrust toward him, his eyes staring blankly at the young Nott. Izar had accomplished what he promised. His child vowed to escape the wards, to retain his independence. And he did so expertly.

A sinister chuckle somehow managed to escape past his suffocating anger. Trust the boy to take advantage of their current situation and play on Voldemort's absence.

Doubts be damned, he was raising the boy well.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar stumbled into the ice cream parlor. He sniffed, pushing up his glasses under the watchful eyes of the occupants. There weren't many customers inside, as it was past ten, but there were three main people he was drawn to.

Polyjuice Potion was likely used for the three, as Izar couldn't detect any strong glamours coming from them. The only reason he knew who they were was by their familiar auras. Unsurprisingly, Sirius chose to go the exasperating route and pose as an elderly woman. His uncle patted his graying bun, winking at Izar with endearment. He was currently sitting across from another woman, Lily, who had short blond hair. Her eyes seemed to soften at the sight of him, but otherwise, she remained indifferent.

The two 'women' sat together at one table, directly behind the table of a lone man. James Potter sat hunched over a half-eaten sundae, scratching the thick beard on his face. His pale eyes were focused on a _Prophet_ while his long black hair partially veiled his face.

Izar stuffed his hands into his pockets, shuffling toward the ice cream counter. He offered the pretty girl on the other side a shy smile, grinning broadly when she offered him only a grimace in return. It was rather fun playing someone other than his usual self. Considering Sirius' choice of disguise, he assumed his uncle felt the same.

"A scoop of chocolate, please."

She snapped her gum, taking her time to scoop out a rather small spoonful of chocolate. He slapped the coins down on the counter, taking the offered tray and turning back to his intended targets. Nonchalantly, he sat across from the disguised James Potter. The Auror never glanced up from the rumpled _Prophet_.

"Good to see you again," James murmured in greeting. "I was surprised you made it."

Izar caught the man's wand movement underneath the table and a privacy ward encircled their table and the one behind them. "I never go back on my word," Izar replied, stirring the chocolate ice cream with his plastic spoon. "My absence will be noted shortly. I don't have much time to dance around the topic."

James finally looked up from the _Prophet _and calculated Izar closely. "Then we should get right to the point, shouldn't we?" Behind him, Lily and Sirius remained silent, listening closely yet not being obvious in their intentions. "A few of us have the advantage of knowing the Dark Lord is Tom Riddle. We've been following his moves closely as of late. As soon as he was removed from his position as Undersecretary, in fact."

"Who is _we_?" Izar inquired, continuing to give his attention on the soupy bowl of ice cream.

"A few members of the Order."

"Dumbledore's Order," Izar mumbled.

"Yes," James confirmed. "There aren't many who are as outspoken as Lily and me, but they have expressed a reluctant understanding in Riddle's motives. We would like to form a negotiation."

Izar scoffed. "I'm failing to understand where you're going with this. How can you possibly understand Riddle's motives? You're of the Light—" Warm hands reached over and curled around Izar's wrists. The young wizard tore his attention away from his uneaten dessert to stare levelly in the man's ice-blue eyes.

"I've told you once, Izar, that not all Light Wizards are close-minded. I believe the world needs to adapt to the changing times. It needs to extend their approval of different magics and practices. I know that's what the Dark Lord is striving for and I know he's using his Tom Riddle persona in order to change the world's perspective. There are already citizens who doubt Scrimgeour and his abilities. With Riddle's continued appearances in the _Prophet, _wizards and witches are slowly beginning to sway to his preaching."

"So you're smarter than I give you credit for," Izar acknowledged. The man was clever enough to realize that Lord Voldemort was not the one who would change the Wizarding World. It was Tom Riddle who would sway the people. "What does this have to do with a negotiation?"

James' rugged features cracked a light smile. "We wish to form a negotiation. There are only a few of us in Dumbledore's Order who believe in Riddle's perspective of advancing our society, but if we outspokenly side with _Tom Riddle_, I can reassure you, more prominent Light figures will follow. This war will not need to continue if you have our support."

Izar smiled thinly, leaning across the table in order to get closer to the captivating man. "You make a good point in addressing _our _benefits to this negotiation, but lack what you get in return."

Potter gave a light laugh, the skin wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. "Our benefits would be, of course, what Riddle can do with our society. It may be difficult to accept Dark Arts as legalized for some, but we can put restrictions on its usage. And we will swallow the thought of a much stronger division between Muggles and Wizards."

"Yes, yes," Izar waved the man's words away. "But what do _you _get out of this negotiation?"

James sat back, staring at Izar carefully. "All we want is for the destruction to end. We want the deaths and raids to come to a halt. There are many innocents dying in this war, we wish it to stop." James paused, as if debating on his next step in the negotiation. "I would also like two figures, one from the Light and one from the Dark, to form a set of statutes regarding the new government. There needs to be restrictions to the Dark Arts. No chaos, no bias regarding crimes."

Izar blinked at the man before closing his eyes. "I don't know whether to think of you as a fool or a fearless bastard." He breathed heavily to calm his racing mind. "There are many negatives to your plan, Potter. For one thing, do you truly believe Dumbledore will take this lying down? The old fool is just as black and white as any other egoistic bastard, but he has power to back up his beliefs. You might like to think you can form a group behind you, but I can assure you, Dumbledore will have a group twice the size of yours following him."

His eyes snapped open as he held up a second finger. "Also, do you think Voldemort will agree to your terms? As much as I am loyal to him, I can reassure you that he enjoys screwing people over. What's saying he won't use your aid to get what he wants and then turn the tables at the last moment?"

"I would be willing to take that risk."

"Then you are an idiot." Izar slapped his arm back on the table, appearing nonchalant in his actions despite his irritation. "Do you think the Dark Lord would be willing to take that risk? He is _far _from a trusting man. He doesn't even trust his Inner-Circle members. He wouldn't trust you."

"We would all be taking risks then. There are ways to insure trust. An Unbreakable Vow, for instance. I am willing to perform an Unbreakable Vow with the Dark Lord. Or you. There are rumors that you are the Dark Lord's right-hand man."

"Rumors," Izar scoffed. "Are just rumors."

Silence spread between them and Izar studied the man. He decided that this disguise of Potter's fit the man's personality far more than the geeky glasses and ridiculously messy hair. Potter might have been a Light Wizard with high hopes and a strong sense of naivety, but he was also open-minded and capable of viewing other sides of the board.

"I'll speak to _him_," Izar broke the silence, taking pity on the man. He looked over the man's shoulder at Lily. The woman gazed back, her emotions skillfully veiled. Izar's lips thinned before he turned his attention back on James. "But I would count on him refusing." Izar chuckled. "In the meantime, try to pretend as if you don't believe your side is going to crumble. This negotiation will make the Dark Lord believe you find little faith in the Light's success in the war."

James' eyes widened before they narrowed. "Quite the contrary, actually."

"Indeed," Izar responded lightly.

He took hold of the soupy ice cream and swirled it gently before tipping it back and draining the liquid. As he set down the plastic bowl, he caught the eyes of the server's behind the bar. He smacked his lips, grinning as she sneered and looked away.

"It's been fun." Izar stood from his stool. "But I must be off."

Potter frowned, nodding nonetheless. "Be safe," he whispered at Izar's back.

The Black heir refused to turn back around and acknowledge the man's discreet words. Instead, he escaped the warm atmosphere of the ice cream parlor and emerged into the chilly night. He made a show of shivering, wrapping his arms around his waist as he surveyed the streets. The number of shoppers lingering around the streets was limited to older folk. Their moods were obvious to Izar.

Now that there was a Dark Lord, the level of cautiousness and attentiveness were at their highest. Guardians refused to allow their children out past dark or without a chaperone. Men accompanied woman, their attention on passing wizards and the shadows of the alleyways. Their hands were always free, available if they needed to reach their wand quickly.

Izar gave a deep hum, watching the Aurors roaming the streets. A sadistic part of Izar enjoyed this change in the Wizarding World. It had always been sickening for him to watch families walk around, oblivious to real world troubles and anguish. Now everyone was aware. They couldn't walk around with their eyes closed and ignorant.

He turned, meeting eyes with himself. A tiny smirk lifted the corner of his mouth as he appraised the flyer warranting for his arrest. Pity they had to use a photograph of him that was taken during the Triwizard Tournament. It had only been a year ago, yet he had changed dramatically since then. He wondered… perhaps he could play with Rufus tonight. He needed a new photograph taken, did he not?

"Rufus and his hunt for Izar Black," a woman breathed over his shoulder.

Izar turned to raise an eyebrow at the hovering Sirius. "Not very successful, is he?" Izar drawled, turning his heel and making his way toward Knockturn Alley. Sirius followed with a voluptuous swagger in his high heels, causing the younger to pause abruptly. "I don't know whether to be concerned that you know how to walk so well in those shoes or amused."

The disguised Sirius, tutted, batting his lashes. "A skilled player knows how to walk in a woman's shoes, dear child of mine." He pursed his thickly painted lips at Izar.

Izar chuckled lowly, enjoying his uncle's tactics despite his better judgment. "You're enjoying this far too much, I'm afraid."

Sirius gave a wolfish grin, reaching up to adjust his..er.. her breasts. "I have no idea what you're talking about." The man tossed his hair, despite the fact that it was already pinned tightly in a bun. "You and I need to have a heart to heart." He reached over to wrap his arm around Izar's shoulders while his mood suddenly took a grim turn. "Rufus has become quite determined to find you. I would argue that he's on a one-track mind, but many would say he's only bringing his fist down harder on reining in the Death Eaters."

They slowly made their way to Knockturn Alley, well aware of the possible eyes following. Izar kept his magic-sensitivity wide open to detect any listening charms planted near them. If anyone tried to pry, he would sense it.

"It doesn't surprise me," Izar murmured quietly. "Rufus was bested. It's unlike him to take it lying down."

"Then you promise me not to do something foolish. Like search him out." Sirius gave Izar a stern look.

It was Izar's turn to blink innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Flashing a toothy grin at his uncle, Izar led them around the corner, nearing the entrance of Knockturn. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't plan on doing anything tonight."

Sirius sighed, his face obviously troubled despite the foolish grin he was trying to pass off.

"What's wrong?" Izar felt inclined to ask. If it was anyone else, he probably wouldn't have pushed the topic, simply because he wouldn't have cared. But Sirius… the man was family and so ridiculous that Izar couldn't help but to feel a bit of affection for.

"I got into the Order," Sirius whispered hoarsely. "I have nothing to report to you yet, only that Dumbledore seems very distant as of late. Somber, really. And that's odd for him. He hardly even touches his lemon drops."

Izar narrowed his eyes, peeling away Sirius' defenses in order to look deeper into his uncle's distress. "You don't think they trust you." He didn't ask it, only because he could _see _it in Sirius' eyes. There was fear and guilt in those charcoal eyes. The man was a mess. While Sirius' spirit would always rightfully belong to the Dark, his undying loyalties were to the Light. The man was too afraid of what the Dark could do to him, and yet, he was also strong enough to ignore the call of the wild.

Sirius was only spying on the Order for Izar. The man did not support the Dark Lord. In fact, Potter might have supported Voldemort's ideals more than Sirius did. The man made a commitment at a young age to follow the path of the Light. Spying for Izar was going against his past sacrifices, his beliefs. And yet, he did it because he… he cared for Izar.

Izar's lips thinned as he stared at his uncle. He had planted the manipulations in Sirius' head, the guilt. And it was a bitter victory.

He was weak. Voldemort would look down on him for what Izar was about to do. Izar was Dark, he was cruel and sadistic to his enemies, but he had to remember the Blacks were loyal to their family. It was time Izar realized he had to make sacrifices in order to make his family better off. No matter what he lost in return.

"I want you to stop this ruse," Izar whispered calmly. His emotions were tucked tightly away, refusing to show in the face of his uncle.

Sirius' eyebrows furrowed. "Iz—"

"You may be blind to the fact, but your aura is weighed down heavily for spying. I don't need your help, Sirius."

Sirius slumped, his stance in the high heels no longer vigorous. "I don't want you to think—"

"That my family abandoned me?" Izar cut the man off once again. "It was destined to happen. We're on the other side of the battlefield. You cannot turn Dark because of me and I cannot turn Light because of you." He kept his voice neutral, only because if he exaggerated coldness, Sirius might believe he was bluffing. "At any rate," Izar grinned. "You would have made a lousy spy."

Sirius gave a chuckle. "I would have to agree with you on that." He reached out and stroked Izar's cheek. "Keep safe, kid."

Izar only smirked in return as he turned and walked down Knockturn. He felt the weight of Sirius' eyes on him as he abandoned his uncle at the mouth of the alley.

The Black heir scoffed at himself, knowing that letting Sirius go was for the best. Truth be told, it would have never worked out smoothly. Sirius wasn't skilled in Legilimency or Occlumency and Dumbledore could have taken advantage of that. Sirius was also terrible at hiding things. He became shifty and overdid his humor when he was nervous. Izar was inclined to believe he released Sirius from his bonds out of logic, not out of sentimentality.

Though… it _had _been satisfying to pull his uncle's strings while it lasted.

Izar continued down the gloomy alleyways, coldly dismissing the figures leaning against the walls of the pubs and shops. With Sirius out of his mind, Izar was finally able to come back to himself. His mind sharpened and the delicious sensation of the Dark embraced and encompassed him. He welcomed it greedily, inhaling the strong scents of grimy and tainted magic.

A chuckle escaped past his lips as he became aware of the familiar aura stalking him. Voldemort was near and immensely angry, yet he was strangely staying away.

The young wizard pivoted on his heel, entering the begrimed shop of Borgin and Burkes. Borgin, the shop owner, smiled oily as he looked up, but frowned when he studied Izar's pathetic appearance. Izar had to admit, his yellow sweater clashed horribly against the dark hues of the store.

"We're closed," the man barked.

"Is that so?" Izar murmured, shrugging. "I will only take a second."

His attention zeroed on the tall cabinet standing innocently against the wall. He made his way over, reaching out a hand to run over the heavy wood. Izar closed his eyes, intrigued with the powerful aura coming from the piece of furniture. There didn't seem to be anything wrong in the pattern of magic, nothing to signal that Draco wouldn't be able to succeed in his task from the Dark Lord.

Izar opened his eyes, narrowing them on the observing shopkeeper.

"You're not the only one who's been eyeing it," Borgin drawled slippery. "A pair of kids came in here the other day."

Suspicion settled in Izar's mind. "What did they look like?"

The man seemed hesitant on offering something to Izar for nothing in return, but decided it wasn't worth it. "A redhead about your height and a bushy-haired witch," a curl stained the man's already grubby mouth. "A Mudblood, no doubt."

Immediately, Izar thought of Granger. He was unsure who the redhead would be, but had a few suspicions. The only question was _why _two Hogwarts students would come down to Knockturn Alley to inspect the Vanishing Cabinet. The two were clearly on the Light Side. Why would they take an interest in something housed in the dangerous parts of Diagon Alley?

Unless they were too curious for their own good. Draco wasn't exactly sly and his continued absence up to the Room of Requirements must have drawn the attention of Granger and her partner. Izar knew Granger was intelligent; she would connect the dots between the two Vanishing Cabinets.

Even if Draco had a chance of fixing the cabinet at Hogwarts, he was unable to do so now. Granger knew of the pair of cabinets and she was likely to go to Dumbledore with it. Draco would not be able to go anywhere _near _the Room of Requirements when he returned to Hogwarts after the break.

Izar was about to indulge his own curiosity and poke around in the Vanishing Cabinet until a hand grabbed his sweater from behind. With strength that could only belong to one person, Izar was hauled off his feet and dangled awkwardly in front of a hooded figure.

"Excuse _me_, sir," Izar exclaimed outrageously. "Do I know you?"

"You've had your fun for the day," Voldemort hissed darkly, dropping Izar before grabbing him roughly across the bicep. "Bask in your smugness, child, because you will be experiencing _hell _shortly."

Despite the agonizing pressure on his arm, Izar couldn't help but to smile wickedly. The man was just angry Izar finally got one up on him.

* * *

**{Meh, **This fall semester is a bit stressful. I can barely get a chapter out during the weekend with all my studying/homework. With that being said, there may be weekends where I'm a bit late with the chapter and I will also be unable to respond to reviews from time to time. You're all wonderful readers and I thank you for your patience and support.**}**


	58. Part II Chapter 26

I don't like writing lemons. I like the chase instead. However, it was due time for one… so the deleted scene will be on my profile (hopefully it's up by now and the journal is under the name Dark Cyan Star so don't be confused). I'm not sure if there will be another sex-scene after this, lemons, yes, though I'm not sure about full lemons… but we'll see. I picture Izar to be more asexual than anything.

_Thanks for the reviews!_

**Chapter Twenty Six**

"You can't _force _me to do this," Izar snarled as he stared at the box sitting innocently on the steel table.

After dealing with the controlling hand pulling him out of Knockturn Alley, Izar was then returned to the Malfoy Manor. His first hope was to speak to Daphne and Draco—to soothe things over as best as he could and warn the blond from continuing on the Vanishing Cabinet. Those plans had shriveled when Voldemort had tugged him harshly through the corridors of the manor, leading him into this… lab.

A _very _impressive lab, mind. The unused cauldrons were set neatly in the corner of the room and in front of a glass cabinet of potion ingredients even Snape would go cross-eyed at. All that remained sitting on the sterile steel table was a box of objects Izar knew to be Voldemort's fake Horcruxes.

The Dark Lord intended for Izar to create another Horcrux, perhaps two, and remain weak and defenseless at his hands. It was essentially a well-thought of punishment. Izar despised being dependent, especially on Voldemort. It had been unbearable for Izar after the Triwizard attack when Voldemort had nursed him back to health. He had experienced the same helplessness when he had been turned immortal after Cygnus' mental possession.

Voldemort knew Izar's attitude toward being defenseless, hence his choice of punishment. Izar had nothing against creating the Horcruxes, but he didn't want to create them as a punishment or under duress. He didn't want to be forced to complete them. It should be his own decision when to make them and how many to make at a time.

Despite his curiosity to see what Voldemort chose for his Horcruxes, Izar remained stubbornly away from the box. Behind him, Voldemort slammed the heavy-set door shut, wards and locking charms insuring against an unwanted entrance.

The Black heir stood stiffly as he listened to Voldemort's leather shoes. They circled him with a predator's grace, slow and calculating, but also with a hint of wicked pleasure.

"Oh, but I _can _force you, child."

The voice raised the hairs on the back of Izar's neck, yet the younger refused to show an ounce of unease.

"Your jaunt throughout the streets of Diagon and Knockturn Alley did not only go against my orders, but it also caused my Death Eaters unnecessary disturbance. It is not their job to babysit you while you continue to—"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Izar brushed off the man's words carelessly. "You ordered me not to go to Knockturn Alley with Draco and Daphne. And I kept to your order. I did not accompany them. I didn't even plan on going to Knockturn until I realized I had extra time on my hands."

He smugly eyed the tall figure as it came to a stop in front of him. Voldemort did not look amused but he didn't appear furious like Izar suspected he would. When the Dark Lord hauled him out of Knockturn, the hand had been unbearably painful. Izar could still feel the soreness on his arm, as if the hand had yet to leave him. Regardless of his creature status, Izar knew the only one who could leave a mark on his body for a prolonged period of time was Voldemort.

Voldemort continued to stare at him, causing Izar slight unsettlement.

"You look utterly ridiculous," Voldemort finally spoke, sneering deeply.

Izar offered the man an insulted look. "I could say that about you all the time, but my respect for you holds my tongue."

The dark shadows across Voldemort's face seemed to lighten with delight. "And yet, you have no respect for me, child," Spider-like fingers reached out and flung the heavy-set glasses off Izar's face. They landed in pieces a few feet away from them.

Izar refused to look at the fallen glasses, his eyes absorbing Voldemort's stare. There was something oddly thrilling about being this physically close to the Dark Lord, Izar thought as the man bent at the waist. The sexual tension that had been present ever since their first meeting reared its head, drawing the two wizards closer together but neither of them making the first move. Basking in the tension always made Izar feel both powerful and vulnerable.

Voldemort leaned forward, placing his forehead against Izar's. The younger blinked, startled at the gentle gesture, before he gazed up at the man. Izar felt uncertain, lost, eager, and curious about what was likely to come… and he knew he was channeling those emotions through his eyes. Even if he was skilled in hiding his feelings, Voldemort knew him too well to turn a blind eye to it.

Suddenly, Voldemort's powerful aura coiled around Izar, suffocating him with the raw power before brusquely ripping apart the Black heir's glamours. His charmed red hair bled black, revealing the loose and silky curls around his face. His rounded ears suddenly became pointed and his eyes felt immensely refreshed as the split-pupils sighed in relief from their constraints.

Izar gave a moan in approval as Voldemort took hold of his face and kissed him deeply. There was nothing reassuring in the kiss, there was just mere dominance.

There were countless of things Izar could analyze about the current situation. For one thing, Voldemort had most likely come to terms with his slip of god-like behavior during Yuletide and accepted their relationship. This could also be Voldemort's way of reestablishing his stance of dominance in their relationship. Not only had Voldemort slipped last night, but Izar had gotten one over on him tonight when he escaped the manor.

And yet, forcing Izar to create the fake Horcruxes would be an even larger reassurance to Voldemort that he held the control in their relationship. So why was Voldemort taking advantage sexually?

Izar narrowed his eyes, curling his fingers around the Dark Lord's shoulders before pushing the man away. His sudden suspicion in the turn of events made him ponder if there was something deeper behind Voldemort's actions. "What are you hiding from me?"

The Dark Lord's red eyes remained fixed on Izar's swollen lips. "Just as much as you are hiding from me, love." Voldemort's lips twisted unattractively into a grimace as he grasped Izar's line of thinking. "But don't make the mistake that my current advances are being controlled by anything _but _my desire. Tonight, there is just us."

Before Izar had a chance to ponder and analyze the words, Voldemort lunged forward, dousing Izar's natural Ravenclaw tendencies. Fingers curled sharply in his hair as Izar was pressed crudely against the wall. He met the lips with equal vigor, smirking into the wet kiss with glee. His hand danced up to stroke the man's strong jaw but Voldemort slapped his hands away domineeringly.

_Ah. _

So the man wanted to play the submissive and dominant game.

Izar supposed he could humor the man. After all, he had gained a considerable amount of confidence this year. Voldemort's physical advances didn't come by very often, as if the man knew Izar was never _really _ready to try anything. But tonight, Izar had no qualms and no hesitations. Entering into this step in their relationship with the Dark Lord was darkly erotic.

Pushing past the binding hold, Izar wrapped his arms fully around Voldemort, his fingers embedding into the back of the man's robes. Just as the Dark Lord had done seconds ago, Izar unraveled the man's glamour and dropped all masks between them. The tongue pressing firmly against his closed lips soon became forked and Izar rolled his eyes upward at the mere sensation. Just this once, he bent to the man's strong will and opened his mouth. He claimed it was just out of curiosity and not submission.

Voldemort eagerly devoured, his snake-like tongue entering Izar's mouth, pitilessly claiming every inch he could reach with that… delectable tongue of his.

Izar offered another moan as their fangs clashed and locked together briefly. Voldemort's hand danced across Izar's cheekbones before dropping and curling around his neck. With a sharp thrust to his neck, Voldemort pressed Izar more firmly against the wall and tilted his head in an angle that would allow him more possession of Izar's mouth.

Not needing to breathe was incredibly useful at times…

Now that Izar was satisfied with experiencing the sensation of Voldemort's forked-tongue, he pushed his own tongue forward. However, as soon as his tongue ventured into the Dark Lord's mouth, the man's sharp fang caught him, drawing blood.

The younger wizard reared backward, breaking the kiss and wincing slightly. He scowled at the arrogant glow surrounding Voldemort as the man traced his own lips, watching Izar closely. "Is something the matter?" he mused innocently.

Izar blew the hair out of his eyes, pushing off from the wall and inching closer to Voldemort. Before the Dark Lord could push away his advances, Izar placed his palms on either side of the man's face and tugged him downward. Bypassing the inviting lips, Izar claimed Voldemort's neck instead. He sucked on the tender skin, standing on his toes and arching his back into Voldemort in order to gain more height. Surprisingly, the man kept still, acting as a solid pillar for Izar's advance.

Which only meant the man was enjoying it.

Pressing the hollow crevice with his lips, Izar lapped the salty skin of the tall wizard. Voldemort's aroma consumed Izar, tickling his senses. The Dark Lord smelt of power, intense power that made Izar's cock twitch. And then there was the masculinity…

With the scents came the sudden realization that Izar had the Dark Lord as his own. This man was unobtainable to everyone but _him_. The thought drove him to sink his fangs into the man's neck possessively. Voldemort went stiff, his arousal suddenly becoming thicker, more obvious against Izar's lower belly.

As if to hide his excitement over Izar's claim, Voldemort hissed and knotted Izar's hair in a tight fist. The Dark Lord spun Izar away from his neck, but not before the younger had a good taste of Voldemort's delectable blood.

The Black heir backed away, licking his lips innocently. The sight of Voldemort dangerously pursing his retreat made everything so much more thrilling. There was a smoldering flame in those crimson eyes, almost a frightening greedy hunger that vowed an equal amount of pain and pleasure. Izar offered a grin to cover his excited unease, tugging at his sweater and pulling it over his head.

"There is a much easier way to do that, child," Voldemort tsked, flicking his finger and stripping Izar wordlessly.

Izar found himself suddenly standing before the Dark Lord, nude. He had never been ashamed of his body and it assisted him tonight by standing his ground as Voldemort loomed. "And your own clothes?" Izar inquired harmlessly. He wouldn't make it a command, or Voldemort would think Izar was uncomfortable and the Dark Lord would play with that to his advantage.

"Someone is rather impatient tonight," Voldemort murmured but stripped a moment later.

**{Deleted Lemon- On my profile}**

"You look absolutely delectable," Voldemort murmured huskily. He stroked Izar's hair, grinning smugly. "So _owned_."

Izar pressed his lips together, allowing the comment to slide only because the Dark Lord had yet to see his back. If Voldemort looked over his shoulder, he would see multiple scratches that would likely leave a mark for quite a while. Compared to Izar, the Dark Lord looked far more owned than himself. Though, Izar wouldn't press his luck, so he remained silent on the subject.

**{Death of Today}**

The weight was mildly annoying, so it couldn't be the Dark Lord. Now that Izar was no longer human, Voldemort was the only one who could hurt him seriously or make Izar uncomfortable with his pressing weight.

Izar cracked open an eye, staring straight into the calculating eyes of Nagini. _"Irritating creature," _Izar hissed softly.

She gave him a superior look before slapping the side of his cheek with her tail. Surprisingly, she didn't say anything in return. She only continued to slither off the empty bed and toward the door.

_Empty bed. _

Izar sat up, gazing coolly at the absent spot next to him. Despite his better judgment, Izar had followed Voldemort back to the man's rooms last night. They were leaving the Malfoy Manor shortly and Izar hadn't wanted to sleep in the man's bed until they were at the base again. They never knew who was watching their progress. Last night, in the lab, it had been safe enough from prying eyes. They would assume Izar was being 'punished' for his disobedience. And while Izar hadn't felt anyone's observance when he followed Voldemort, he was still unsettled.

What left him even more unsettled was the absent man next to him. Izar was sure the man wanted him to spend the night, only because he could gloat freely as soon as Izar woke up. Yes the man possessed him last night, had dominated him. And he would gloat and glow with smugness as soon as Izar opened his eyes.

And yet, there was no smirking Dark Lord. Only a serpent gliding quickly toward the door that was ajar.

Izar jumped from the bed, tiptoeing across the floor stealthily despite the pain at his backside. His actions made Nagini's great bulk move quicker, raising Izar's suspicions. He reached to door, his ears picking up the quiet murmurs on the other side.

"…not in his home. Black is no longer under the radar, he simply disappeared."

"Severus' usefulness will expire within the next few days. At which point, he will be dead. We will be able to extract Black's—" Voldemort's raspy and cold voice paused before it became silky. _"Ah, Nagini. Has our pet awoken?" _

"_Yes, and he's listening at the door." _

Izar reared back, seething. Damn serpent. Damn Dark Lord. Izar's mind raced quickly, going through possibilities and potential steps he could take in order to keep up with Voldemort. The conversation he just overheard couldn't have been anything positive on his father's end. And Izar had a strong idea of what they were speaking of. It had been bound to come out eventually; Izar just hoped it wouldn't have _ever _come out. Though… he had a rough strategy he could work with in order to win Regulus' life. Again.

He called the Dark Lord's hooded cloak to him, donning it quickly and doing a sloppy job of shrinking it to fit him. Izar then moved his wand over his face, chanting a strong glamour spell. The icy sensation washed the length of his body, signaling its success.

"I believe we will finish this discussion at a later date, Lucius. Please, remember to gather the Inner-Circle members and your son for our meeting this morning."

Izar threw open the door to the Dark Lord's bed chamber, catching a rising Lucius off guard. The man's eyes widened comically and his mouth dropped in a soundless gasp as he spied Izar sauntering out from the Dark Lord's private rooms.

Voldemort's aura darkened considerably. He remained motionless in his armchair, leaning his chin on his splayed fingers and watching Izar menacingly with lidded eyes. The Black heir paid the man no attention as he walked slyly over to the struggling Malfoy. The man quickly placed his mask back into place and remained upright.

"Leaving so soon, Lucius?" His bare feet slapped the ground as he came to a stop in front of the blond. Pleasantly, he reached forward and stroked a single finger down the man's cheek. Though, unexpectedly, the black Celtic ring on his finger seared, causing Izar to stop short of his seduction of the man.

He stared at the ring, rage searing hotly across his chest. The ring was only supposed to ensure his virginity, not his fidelity. After last night, it should have stopped burning whenever Izar came in physical contact with another. Instead, it was working just as well as it had since the day he received it.

Izar bowed his head, controlling himself from lashing out. Calmly, he turned away from Lucius and gave a nonchalant tug at the Celtic band, somehow not surprised that it was not coming off. That _bastard_.

Dropping his hands to his sides, Izar leaned against the table facing the two wizards. They were both watching him as he grabbed a ripe pear from the basket and bit greedily. He kept his eyes on Lucius, manipulating the silence to his own favor. The blond was squirming ever so slightly, glancing at the Dark Lord from the corner of his eye but never outright looking. It was clear from the man's actions that he was frightened, but there was no surprise. Lucius was frightened of how Voldemort would react to this unveiling. Which only proved Izar's suspicions right.

"Don't act so surprised, Lucius," Izar murmured past the pear in his mouth. "After all, _you knew all along_ that the Dark Lord and I were lovers." Here, he gave a pointed glance at Voldemort before turning back to his victim.

"I…" Lucius turned pink near the tips of his ears but otherwise remained impassive. "I had my suspicion, My Lord. That is all." He was pleading toward the Dark Lord, but the wizard was remaining as stiff and still as a statue.

"Give yourself a bit more credit," Izar persisted. "You _knew _for a long while." He paused, hesitating just briefly before speaking his perceptions. "If not when the Dark Lord warned you away from me."

It was only a guess that Voldemort had spoken to Lucius about keeping his distance. The Dark Lord was possessive and observant. He noticed all too well the mutual interest between Izar and Lucius. A warning to stay away was highly likely and Lucius' reaction to Izar's words proved his theory right. Voldemort _had _warned Lucius. And thus, the man all but confirmed his relationship with Izar to the blond. Izar's disordered strategy had worked wonders in his favor, especially for being thought of so quickly.

Amusement tickled Izar throat and he indulged, laughing.

"Leave us, Lucius." Voldemort stood sharply. "Not a word of this goes beyond this room. Understood?"

Lucius turned for the door as quickly as he could without appearing frightened. "Of course, My Lord. Never." Lucius offered a chuckling Izar a quick glance before exiting the rooms.

Izar ate the core of the pear, smirking darkly at the closed door. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Voldemort sat back down, though, his position was tense and angry. "Amusing," Izar licked his fingers, wiping them on the cloak he borrowed from Voldemort. "How you are so inclined to kill Regulus because of his knowledge of us…" The Black heir finally turned and looked at Voldemort, barely keeping his self-satisfaction from his tone. "But turn the other cheek when Lucius is involved. After all, you all but told him _yourself _that we are… lovers. Shouldn't he be executed as well?"

Only seconds passed before Voldemort's lips thinned into a cruel smile. "You're good, child. Though, you're forgetting something vital."

"And what's that?" Izar inquired, refusing to believe Voldemort could wiggle his way out from this one.

"I couldn't care a less if Lucius knows we are involved in a sexual relationship."

Izar pushed off from the table, coming to a stop in front of the Dark Lord. "But _I _do!" he hissed furiously. "You don't understand the discrimination I've gone through for being Half-blood, for being the son a Mudblood, for being the son of the man who betrayed you. I've made a name for myself within the ranks and I don't want to soil it by being the Dark Lord's whore." Izar calmed himself, slowly straightening from his hunched position. "You cannot kill Regulus if you haven't killed Lucius. It is unjust."

"What's unjust is your favoritism and your blindness to your father. You don't know the consequences surrounding this issue, Izar."

"Then tell me instead of keeping this a secret."

Voldemort sat back, tapping his jaw slowly and examining Izar closely. "Severus Snape spied the information in your father's mind during his healing coma. What he saw, I'm still unclear about, but your father knew you were immortal. Severus knew this information would kill your father if I found out. And in order to save Black of my scrutiny and his eventual death, Severus brings the information to Dumbledore."

Izar stepped back, too surprised to veil his expression. Before he could inquire more information, Voldemort continued stoically.

"Severus believed if he told me Dumbledore came to the conclusion of your immortality by his own means, then I would be none the wiser and not suspect Black as the one who held the information. A rather brilliant scheme, but I saw right through his act." Voldemort lifted a lip. "I know Severus is loyal to me, but I also know he holds a burning flame for your father. It's pathetic and I find no use or no time for it. They will both be eliminated despite your predicted repudiation."

"But you haven't killed Snape yet." It wasn't a question. "And Dumbledore knows _what _exactly?"

Voldemort sighed. "Severus is still useful to me. And Dumbledore believes you're a vampire."

Izar shook his head, unable to come to a quick conclusion regarding this situation. He was suspicious of Snape, and yet, the man went to a great length in order to protect Regulus. It was a risky move on Snape's behalf and he had failed when Voldemort saw right through him. But there wouldn't have been any questions asked if Voldemort found out Regulus knew of Izar's immortality. The Dark Lord would slay his father without a moment's hesitation. Snape had believed that this scheme would be Regulus' only saving grace.

And it backfired. On everyone present. It made Izar more vulnerable to Dumbledore and it also made Voldemort hunt for Regulus' and Severus' life. Izar felt a grudging respect for Severus despite the circumstances. Someone who would protect Regulus to such lengths deserved a bit of admiration from Izar.

"I know what you're thinking," Voldemort drawled deviously. "And no matter what, both of them will be dead. I set Severus free only because his services are still needed. His pride will keep him in Britain and away from hiding. Regulus Black, on the other hand, will eventually show up. And he will meet a quick and painless death."

Izar's fists curled. "Regulus had no hand in this. If anyone deserves death, it's Snape." And yet, Izar would try to find a way to spare the snarky man's life. The man was a brilliant manipulator, an intelligent man whose loyalties were firm, doubtless of their shades of grey. Snape made Regulus happy and Izar was always impractical and sentimental when it came to his father's wellbeing. "I told you once that if you killed Regulus, I would turn my back on you without a second thought."

It took one blink for Voldemort to rise from his chair and cross the room. The Dark Lord took a sudden painful grip on Izar's jaw, tilting his head back domineeringly. "You already had your chance to leave. Now that your chance has expired, you're not going _anywhere_. You run, and I will find you wherever you go."

The man's words were not only a baleful threat but also a promise Izar knew he would keep. Nonetheless, he met the man's eyes head on.

Voldemort pressed the pad of his thumb against Izar's bottom lip before turning away. The Black heir had two choices. He could either press the topic or he could swallow his temper and try to control the situation from behind the scenes.

He chose the latter. "I met with James and Lily Potter last night."

The man paused in pouring himself a cup of tea, yet he kept his back turned to Izar. "Is that so?" the dark head bowed as he continued to pour the hot liquid. "And just what did your mommy dearest have to say?"

Izar scoffed. "I actually spoke to Potter. He is rather… intriguing but incredibly naïve. His sense of morals are impressive and there are also countless of flaws in his views. He's hot and cold. I sometimes find it difficult to pinpoint what I think of him," he admitted. "He wanted me to ask you for a truce, a negotiation of sorts."

Voldemort actually _laughed_. Long fingers curled around his tea cup as he glided back to his armchair. "I find myself curious to know the terms of this negotiation. Against my better judgment, of course."

"Of course," Izar mocked. "I already know your answer. Why must we waste our time with this?"

Sipping from his tea, Voldemort watched Izar from over the brim of his cup. The man took his time setting down the porcelain dishware and savoring the strongly prepared tea. "_My_ child," the man crooned. "You are rather irritable this morning. Whatever do you have up your arse? Or… what's absent, I wonder?" The man cocked his head to the side, a sick smile across his face.

"My Lord, you are incredibly amusing." Izar nodded, pressing his lips together firmly in order to hide his snarl. "Really, your sense of humor is tremendously witty, I find myself overwhelmed."

Voldemort barely batted a lash at Izar's dripping sarcasm and instead traced his upper lip, surveying Izar across the room. The crimson eyes seemed to stare right through him. "You smell exceptionally delicious this morning, love." As if to prove his point, the man's nostrils flared and he closed his eyes in bliss. "I swear, this morning Nagini had trouble distinguishing us apart by our scent."

Izar blanched, realizing he stunk of Voldemort but finding the idea so repulsive and so… _arousing_. He hated himself. Turning away from the man's savoring expression, Izar walked back toward the table full of food.

"And I see you're sore…"

The Black heir gritted his teeth together. "I'm glad you have the ability to reap enjoyment from life's small pleasures, _Tom_." He placed both hands on the table, catching sight of his black Celtic ring. He considered it for a moment before a nasty idea sprang forth. Oh yes, he would leave the topic buried. For now.

"The negotiation was quite skewed on our side, actually," Izar began, changing the topic. "They want us to cease our raids and our killings. They'll agree on having the Dark Arts legalized as long as there are reasonable restrictions on it. There would be two figures to form a treaty of sorts for the new society. One Dark, one Light. Other than that, Potter claims there will be countless of Light Wizards following behind his decisions."

Voldemort gave a light chuckle at Izar's turned back. "You are far too trusting. I find little satisfaction from going the easy way out. If I'm going to reconstruct Britain, I'm going to do it on _my _terms without unwanted assistance."

Izar stared at the large mirror on the wall, meeting Voldemort's crimson gaze through the reflection. "What's going to happen?" Izar asked quietly. "To us?"

A thin black eyebrow rose. "I'm afraid you'll have to expand, child." Voldemort spoke to the mirror.

"This war isn't going to last forever, Tom." It was a slight risk using the man's given and hated name, but Izar wanted the man to know he was serious. And he required an honest and serious answer in return. "I know that immorality has always appealed to you. Death is an unknown, a fearful journey you never wanted to embark on. Thus, you created your own way to resist it. But you also pulled me along despite my willingness to walk the path of death."

There was something flickering behind Voldemort's gaze, Izar had trouble discerning it.

"While you find yourself fearful of death, I'm afraid I find myself fearful of this immortality," Izar confessed quietly, keeping his attention on the reflection rather than the man himself. It seemed easier this way, to confess something so raw. "Right now the war is occupying my attention, keeping me distracted from the dark void that is eternity."

Voldemort stood from his position on the armchair, approaching Izar, yet keeping his focus on the mirror. "If that is all you're worried about, you should have come to me sooner. Granted, a part of me foolishly considers that everyone shares my same beliefs. That they'd kill or do anything in their power to be immortal, but you are always the exception."

The split-red eyes turned from the reflection to the corporal Izar. An arm snaked around Izar's waist, tugging the smaller body flush against his chest. The Black heir kept his eyes on the mirror until he knew it was safe enough to look away.

"I will always keep you entertained, just as you will always keep _me _entertained." Voldemort bent down, pressing his nose into Izar's vulnerable neck. "Do you truly think Britain is the only country that needs a Dark Lord? It isn't world domination I want, but the power to be able to tear down a society and then rebuild it. I want to role-play with you, experimenting both sides of the battlefield. What will it be like, decades from now, to fight for the Light and tear down the society we are currently building only to reveal we were truly on the Dark side?"

An eternity of games, of manipulation of not only each other, but everyone they came in contact with. It was what Izar enjoyed doing; it was what Voldemort thrived for. They may struggle to get along at times, but they were so very compatible. Time was an ever-changing element. Who knew where time would take them tomorrow, let alone an eternity?

It made Izar feel slightly more comfortable with his curse. He was able to pull his eyes away from the mirror and glance up at the Dark Lord. "Your logic is complicated to grasp," Izar murmured, finding himself diverted. "I can't imagine you fighting for the Light."

"Perhaps not very long," Voldemort agreed. "I, the Light Lord and you, the Dark Lord. Or, two opposing Dark Lords fighting for control. So many choices, so many possibilities to play with."

At that, Izar laughed. "I will not be taking the mantle of a Lord."

"Maybe not this century, but you will most definitely make a fine Dark Lord, or Light Lord. I've been training you since you turned fifteen, after all." Voldemort pressed his growing fangs against Izar's neck. "We will enjoy one another, I have no doubts. If I ever fail to challenge or entertain you, then I will embrace death with open arms."

Izar pulled away, assessing the man closely. "Then you're saying there _are _ways to kill us?"

Voldemort unwrapped his arms around Izar before turning his shoulder on him. "Until I know you are not suicidal, I will award you with the information."

Izar found himself bemused by the man's statement. "I am not suicidal. How do you know if I don't want the information just to kill _you_?"

The expression on Voldemort's face was all but tickled. "If that was your reason for asking, then I would be happy to oblige. But I refuse to give you the information you need to end your immortality. You belong with me, and I will have it no other way." Voldemort waved a careless hand, making his way to the door. "Get dressed appropriately and meet me down in the parlor within the next hour."

Obviously the conversation was over.

In the face of the closed door, Izar realized that he didn't know anything about the type of creature he was. Of course, he knew the basics, but the basics were not _good _enough for him. He needed to flesh out his curiosity and know the process Voldemort used to create this creature, what their limitations were, how they could die... he was thirsty for more knowledge. Though, maybe that's what Voldemort intended. He wanted Izar to remain oblivious and it unsettled Izar. He was used to knowing everything he desired, and not be kept in the dark. This creature he was… it wasn't in any books he could find. It came down to Voldemort as the source of information and the man was unwilling to divulge in any secrets.

He knew he could still feel pain and pleasure, he could still ejaculate, and he could bleed. Mostly human sensations, but he didn't need blood to survive, nor food or sleep, but he did both anyway because it sharpened his mind. The pain he felt was minimal, unless it was Voldemort causing the pain. Surely if Izar's head was cut off, he would die?

Right? Or was fire the more likely weapon?

And then he wondered why he was thinking so hard about this and questioned if Voldemort had been right to assume Izar was suicidal.

**{Death of Today}**

After dressing and _showering_, Izar swiftly made his way down to the first level of the Malfoy Manor. It was barren this morning, all the guests gone for the year. He wondered if this emptiness was what Draco felt as a child. Or did the Malfoy's warm the manor up when they were alone?

Stepping into the parlor, he observed the solemn faces of the Inner-Circle members. All of them were present, save for Severus Snape and Antonin Dolohov. Draco Malfoy was also sitting uncomfortably at the end of the room, a clear indication he was not meant to be confused with the rest of the wizards. As his eyes met Izar's, he lifted his lip and turned away—disgusted.

"Mr. Black, so glad you could make it," Voldemort drawled. The man was currently sitting on a regal chair, his back to the fireplace. His Inner-Circle members were split in half, one group sitting on his right and the other sitting on his left. Their postures were stiff and imperial, their expressions just as immobile. "Please, kneel before me."

Biting his tongue, Izar calmly walked down the aisle of Death Eaters before kneeling gracefully before the Dark Lord. Playing his part, Izar bowed his head, knowing the boundaries of their relationship required him to act somewhat respectable to the Dark Lord in public. If a small act of submission was needed, Izar would play his part as best as he could.

Voldemort uncrossed his legs and reached for an object on the table next to him. "You have continued to show your worth in my ranks from the moment you were Marked. Not only have you made a name for yourself at such a young age, but you have proved your loyalty. I am a… empathetic Lord to my loyal followers and know when to reward my Death Eaters. That is why I am promoting you to First Tier."

Izar glanced up, spying the gold-plated mask in the Dark Lord's hands. It shouldn't have come to a surprise to him, from the way Bellatrix and the others were behaving yesterday morning. But it did take him aback to be so formally promoted. He could also feel a bit of pride and a hint of disappointment. While he knew that the Dark Lord used the tiers to encourage and inspire the other Death Eaters to act their best, First Tier was a glorified and respected position. Now that he was First Tier, he could safely assume a larger role without any obstacles.

And yet, there was also disappointment. He enjoyed earning what he worked for and basking in the reward afterwards. Did he truly earn this mask or was it just given to him because he was the Dark Lord's lover?

No, Izar thought with startling ferocity.

He earned this. He had sacrificed _many _things for this war, for the Dark Lord.

He deserved this.

"Thank you, My Lord. I will continue to prove my worth." Izar reached for the mask, touching the cool metal. Before he could tug the mask in his possession, Voldemort's bone-white hand curled around his wrist, holding him in place.

Leaning forward, the man's split-crimson eyes inched closer to Izar's upturned face. The two shared a private moment of light amusement before Voldemort began to speak. "I want you to understand that this is a privilege, not a right. With that being said, I can easily revoke this power I grant you, as evidence of Dolohov's slip of rank. Do not abuse this power, or you will be punished accordingly." Voldemort then looked up at the rest of the Inner-Circle members. "And that goes for _all _of you."

Izar was finally released and he sat back on his heels, taking his mask with him. He could almost feel the unstable auras behind him, trembling in distaste. In fact, Rabastan Lestrange was sitting directly to the side of Izar, his breathing coarse and unsteady.

The Black heir stifled a grin and bowed once again to the Dark Lord.

"Go find a seat, Mr. Black. We have something to discuss."

Izar stood elegantly from his kneeled position and offered a light smile toward a giddy Bellatrix before sitting at the farthest chair to Voldemort's right. Conveniently, he was across from Augustus Rookwood, the ex-Unspeakable. The man's heavily oiled hair was pulled back into a bun, revealing the pallid to his face. The man had lost a lot of weight and Izar was certain he was still recovering from the fatal wound across his chest during the Unspeakable raid.

Rookwood gave a quick nod, his lips mangled into what could be considered a smile. Izar repeated the man's actions, ignoring Draco's glower from near the door.

"As many of you know," Voldemort began, slicing the tension-filled room with a sharp tone. "I presented young Mr. Malfoy with the task of repairing the Vanishing Cabinet inside Hogwarts. I believed a student within Hogwarts would remain undetected from Dumbledore's trusting eyes. Alas, our young Malfoy has failed to accomplish his task."

If possible, Draco seemed to shrink in his chair, his eyes glued to the side of Izar's face. The Black heir continued to watch Voldemort, not impressed with the boy's antics. Draco had every right to be angry, but the boy was missing the bigger picture. If Izar had accompanied Draco and Daphne as planned, they would have gotten caught and Izar would have never found out Dumbledore was aware of his scheme.

"Hogwarts _will _be our last stand," Voldemort continued. "And I want a way inside."

It was clear that Voldemort was open to suggestions. Or, perhaps he already came up with a plan but wanted to appease his Inner-Circle and ask for their input. The members of the Inner-Circle remained silent for a long while.

"A Portkey?" Evelyn Mulciber suggested. "If Malfoy can construct the Portkey at Hogwarts and owl it to Lucius, perhaps we can have a chance of entering inside."

Izar couldn't help it. He snorted.

Heads turned in his direction and he sat straighter, looking straight ahead and not meeting any eyes. "It is a likely plan, really," Izar tried to soften his disrespectful reaction to Mulciber's suggestion. "By creating a Portkey _inside _Hogwarts, the wards will not affect it. The properties of the Portkey will include the safeguards, making it possible for outsiders to Portkey inside the castle without any problem."

"Then what do you find so amusing, Black?" Mulciber sneered.

Izar glanced down at his nails, picking at them nonchalantly. "Albus Dumbledore may be viewed as an old fool by many, but he's also an intelligent old fool. This is war and he's past respecting his students' privacy, especially Draco's privacy after finding out about the Vanishing Cabinet. He will be monitoring the post closely. And considering we will need a full army during the Hogwarts raid, I doubt he would allow several Portkeys to exit the wards."

Silence.

Izar didn't understand why Voldemort wanted to include Hogwarts as his intended location for his last raid. It was Dumbledore's turf. But then again, it was all the more reason to have Hogwarts as the location. The public viewed Hogwarts as the most protected safeguard in the entire Great Britain. If Hogwarts fell, so would the public's faith in both Dumbledore and Rufus Scrimgeour. They would turn their hope on Tom Marvolo Riddle.

It was brilliant, but also difficult.

"Izar Black," Barty Crouch Jr. murmured in jubilation. "Is our key to get inside Hogwarts."

Izar raised his eyebrows, finally glancing at the other members of the room. Voldemort was sitting imposingly in his chair, watching the events unfold like an elated puppet master. Next to Izar, Barty was grinning evilly, eyeing Izar with uncontrolled desire.

"Oh?" Izar probed. "And how is that?"

Barty wiped his palms on his pants, his tongue shooting out to swipe at the corner of his mouth. "Rumors are that you are magic-sensitive. You were also the one who tore down the Unspeakable invention before it could drain our magic. The wards around Hogwarts are our largest barrier, but I'm sure a magic-sensitive like yourself can find the weak spot and tear them down."

Murmurs spread around the Inner-Circle as auras sparked with intrigue and excitement. Voldemort's smile just got wider, as if his plans were unfolding radiantly.

"There are many things wrong with that scenario," Izar rebutted sharply. "Hogwarts is ancient. And so are its wards. One cannot simply swipe them away as easily as an invention that was recently made."

"But you will try," Voldemort spoke, silencing anyone who was about to comment. "Weeks before the raid, I will send you and a selected few to scope out the wards and find the weak spot. Do not attempt to unravel them, just make certain you can remember the position on the day of the raid." The Dark Lord looked away from Izar and everyone assembled. "Until that time, prepare yourselves for the upcoming battle. I will inform you the time and location at a later date."

The Death Eaters began standing, bowing at the waist in front of Voldemort before trickling out the door. All that was left behind was Lucius, Izar, and an uncomfortable Draco.

"My Lord, Draco is prepared to make up for his failure," Lucius whispered in reverence. "Do you wish for him to complete another task?"

"Yes," Izar interrupted before the Dark Lord could deliver a snarky comment. Red eyes widened only a fraction, but Izar turned away from the man and toward Draco. "There is another task; an easier and far more believable mission for you to accomplish than your original request from our Lord. Yet, it is more important. _Very _vital that you succeed."

If Voldemort was clueless to Izar's line of thought, he didn't say anything.

Draco straightened from his chair, his eyes hopeful, yet veiled with dislike for Izar. "Anything, My Lord," he pleaded, glancing at the Dark Lord past Izar's shoulder. "I will do anything you wish."

Izar sat back, crossing his legs and smiling grimly. "Then if our Lord permits it, I will present you with the task tomorrow before you leave for Hogwarts."

Today would be tiresome. He had two Horcruxes to complete before the day was over. Now that Voldemort wasn't forcing his hand at creating them, Izar felt no qualms with going forward with his earlier plans. He just hoped things would go according to plan.

* * *

{**Notes**} Things will progressively pick up from this chapter onward. I would _like _to say there are less than ten chapters left, but that's an extremely rough estimate and may be more. Raid will be next chapter… *wistful sigh*. It is the one chapter I envisioned before I even began the first chapter of the second arc. I look forward to writing it.

Hopefully Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was good. I haven't seen it yet, but I heard it was good from the reviews. Maybe I'll get to it this upcoming weekend.

Have a good week- and to those who celebrate- have a good Thanksgiving.


	59. Part II Chapter 27

**Warnings: Hehe, grammar mistakes, among other _things. _**

_Thanks __**so much**__ for your wonderful reviews!_

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

Amongst the hustle and bustle of the returning Hogwarts students, Draco sat solemnly in the corner, watching the scenery pass by. The Hogwarts Express sped past the icy landscapes, not giving Draco much to look at. He stared anyway, trying to take his mind off the _object_ in his trunk. Izar Black had hand delivered it today, bringing with it news Draco didn't want to hear from the boy's lips or even _listen _to.

And yet, what Izar had said rang true and clear, haunting Draco even when he was miles away from the Black heir.

Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Parkinson, and a few others were arguing amongst each other and spreading gossip about the student body. A year ago, Draco would have been right along with them, boasting about his father's accomplishments, showing off the different gifts he received, and insulting Granger and the Gryffindors. A year ago seemed like a lifetime ago. And it was also a different Draco Malfoy, one that was still coddled to life's real meaning.

"Alright Draco?"

Draco tore his eyes from the scenery and flashed Daphne Greengrass a grimace. She was nursing a volume of _Witch Weekly_, refusing to be a part of the Slytherin's rowdy behavior.

Movement outside their compartment caught Draco's attention. Before he could respond to Daphne, he was distracted with the appearance of Granger and Weasley. The Ravenclaw female was arguing with Weasley, her eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline. There were rumors that they were dating, but Draco refused to believe it.

The two just started spending time together in public at the start of this year and Draco believed it was because they joined Dumbledore's Order together. Granger because of her grades and intelligence and Weasley because of his family's prior involvement. They had nothing else in common and Draco could clearly see that from the way they always bickered. Or maybe, the bickering was just used to fuse the sexual tension between the two.

Granger abruptly turned, catching Draco's eyes. What fiery passion she had when dealing with Weasley turned cold and guarded as they met Draco. Her plump lips thinned tightly into a line of revulsion. She stormed away, Weasley offering him a glare before following after her.

Draco scoffed. "Bloody wonderful, Greengrass." His hands tightened into fists in his pockets as he wondered why he even bothered to view Granger in such a godly light. Izar was right. She was a mere crush, a small and insignificant factor to this war.

He remembered the conversation he had with Black this morning and slowly became hardened to everything around him.

"_He said he would be here before you left, Draco," Lucius advised, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. _

_Draco had the sudden urge to shake it off, but realized it would be extremely childish to do so. "I will be _late _if he continues to make me wait." Draco inhaled sharply, turning to look at his father. "Please be careful in the raids, father. They are all for themselves. No one will aid you if you need assistance. Perhaps I could—"_

_Lucius smiled warmly, a smile only reserved for his family. "You will assist me by continuing with school. I will be just fine." _

_All that Draco could do was nod. He was never one for intuition, but today, he felt something dark—sinister—settle in his stomach at the prospect of leaving his father. Earlier, he had said his farewells to his mother and didn't feel as agitated as he did currently. "I'll be top of my class," Draco reassured Lucius. _

"_Precious," a voice interrupted the duo's conversation. _

_Father and son turned, startled to see Izar Black standing behind them. They hadn't heard anyone approach, certainly not _both _Izar and the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was hovering nearby, yet not close enough to grace them with his presence. He stood near a trunk and a circling serpent, feigning interest in the Malfoy portraits across the corridor's halls. _

_Draco opened his mouth, ready to insult the boy, but paused when he saw how _horrible _Black appeared. The usual stiff-backed teen was slouched slightly forward, clutching a wooden box to his chest. The expression was numb, seemingly exhausted. And the eyes were dull and tired. If Izar Black was just a bit tired, he would have hid it extremely well. To have Black appear like this must mean something transpired since yesterday morning. Torture, perhaps? The thought should have pleased him, but it left Draco terrified of what the Dark Lord was capable of. _

"_May I speak to Draco alone, Lucius?" Izar murmured softly. He barely spared Lucius a glance as the man swept from the proximity. "I understand you're angry with me." _

_The blond crossed his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow as if to say 'duh'. _

_Izar blinked, grunting. The boy must have been extremely sick, for he did little to hide his expression of repugnance. "Has it ever crossed your mind that if I hadn't double-crossed you, you would be caught by Dumbledore tampering with the Vanishing Cabinet? If we went together, as originally planned, we would have been captured and forced to stay at the manor. By going on my own terms, I was able to find out that Granger and Weasley have been following your ungrateful hide around Hogwarts." _

_It was Draco's turn to blink at the words, reluctantly realizing he hadn't thought of it that way. _

_Black took another step forward, invading his personal space. "Not only did I save your arse that night, but I also gave you the option to redeem yourself in our Lord's eyes." _

_The box was thrust in Draco's hands. He took it ungracefully, feeling extremely uneasy holding it. Just like the intuition with his father, he could _feel _something wrong with this item. It was dark, frightening… _

"_Can I look inside?" Draco found himself asking despite his better judgment. _

"_Of course you can, but only here. After you step out of this manor, make sure you don't take it out or bring any unwanted attention to it." _

_Draco licked his bottom lip before flipping the latch upward and slowly opening the lid. He expected a skull, a potion vial full filled with mysterious liquid, a snake egg… anything but a bloody crown that looked even ridiculously lavish in the Malfoy Manor. And yet, the large sapphire twinkled up at him wickedly, teasing him and setting him on edge. It was an odd sensation. He wanted to stare at it all day, yet he also wanted to stash it in the deepest bowels of hell. _

"_What is it?" Draco asked. _

"That _is none of your business," Izar scolded. "It belongs to the Dark Lord; please treat it with extreme caution." _

_Draco finally slammed the lid shut, eyeing the Dark Lord over Black's shoulder. The man was too far away to overhear their conversation. Right? "What would you like me to do with it? What would our Lord like me to do with it?" _

"_Ah," Black gave a breathless laugh, trying to straighten his shoulders but failing miserably. The boy fell back forward, his stance weary. "Before I tell you your task, I must be sure that you are committed to this war, to the Dark." _

_Draco refrained from blanching at the familiar topic. The last time they had this conversation, it had been in Black's rooms when Draco had asked for assistance with the Vanishing Cabinet. He was _tired _of Black always thinking he knew everything, everyone. Though, those unique-colored eyes were piercing Draco, making it difficult for him to breathe. _

_Throughout the past few days, Draco had begun to slowly see Black as someone other than that awkward, antisocial teen. In his spot was a genius, a threat, a powerful force. Izar Black was a young man now and Draco had struggled to come to terms with it. After all, how could someone, a year younger then himself, be more mature? As he stood in front of Black, it made Draco finally come to terms with it. It was time Draco followed suit. _

"_You know I'm committed," Draco replied, swallowing his instinct to offer a scathing retort. _

_Black raised an eyebrow, just as surprised as Draco with his cool tone. "Your crush." Izar cocked his head to the side, continuing to stare through Draco. "You and Granger always struggled with one another to be the top of your class. Your insults to her at school were rather unjust, despite your hate for Mudbloods. You're infatuated with her because you see a strong witch that can challenge you." _

"_You're wrong," Draco hissed wetly. He glanced around the manor for his father but saw Lucius nowhere. "Don't assume as if you know." _

_Izar gave a crooked smirk, his posture, if possible, seemed to slouch forward to a greater extent. "Oh, but I do _know_, Draco. It's always the challenge, the lust of the challenge, the chase. I've had my fair share of it, actually." There was hidden amusement in the boy's eyes. "I don't fault you, nor do I find it weak of you. However, I do need to caution you that this type of chase is dangerous. Not only are you sacrificing your loyalties for this Mudblood, but you may be making sacrifices that affect this war." _

_Draco stared, only because someone had never stood before him and spoke his flaws to his face. No one had seen through him as well as Izar Black. His obsession with Granger wasn't healthy, he knew, but it wasn't something so easily controlled. _

"_I don't even _like _her," Draco repeated his denial. _

"_And yet, I can see that you're hesitant to create any trouble for her, any danger." The younger reached forward and placed a hand on top of the box in Draco's hand. Those eyes were piercing as they stared at him. "You can renounce your complete loyalty to the Dark and chase after Granger, or you can direct your lust for a challenge elsewhere and play a role in turning this society in the rightful direction. Many of us have to sacrifice something in order to participate in this war. Can you imagine, sacrificing your family for war? Some of us need to make that decision, doubtless of our desires to hold them _and _our allegiance close. When you compare a Mudblood girl to your family, what can you possibly see as comparison?" _

_Izar leaned forward abruptly, his face harsh and passionate. "She is but a Mudblood girl, a small, meager crush in this point of time in your life." _

_Draco sneered. "She _is _nothing! I keep telling you I have no feelings for her." _

_Izar stayed silent for a long moment, his eyes distant and not even present. Draco lowered his lids, watching as the boy struggled to regain his thought process. "Are you well?" Draco queried. Suddenly, the Dark Lord turned in their direction and Draco swallowed thickly, averting his attention back on Izar. _

_The Black heir frowned. "I need you to think on what I've told you," Izar began on a new tangent. "If you decide to continue with your support of the Dark Lord, I want you to hide this in the Room of Requirement. If you decided you want to peruse a mere crush and throw away everything, then, by all means, deliver this to Dumbledore." _

_Draco turned cold at the dark humor in Izar's eyes. The boy was intoxicating, Draco would admit to that. There was something ethereal with Izar. The Black heir was handsome, beautiful…and almost pretty. And he looked so damned innocent and guiltless. Many would be surprised to find such a complex and dark creature lurking beneath those inimitable eyes. Draco hated to admit it, but he wanted to spend days on end studying Izar and memorizing his habits and moods—he wanted to figure the boy out and mimic. And yet, he knew it would take more than a few days to accomplish such a feat. _

_Suddenly, Draco's chin was taken by cool fingers. Izar gazed down at him through thick eyelashes. _

"_Don't think you can hang on to both, because, in the end, you must always choose a side. One cannot have his cake and eat it too." _

_Draco wanted to tell the boy off once again, that Granger was nothing. She was a Mudblood who got better grades than him. But he found himself unable to lie. He had noticed these _thoughts _plaguing him since the start of the term. He had fretted the Dark Lord gaining control of the school and targeting _her_. He didn't understand his sudden fascination, but it had affected his ability to fix the Vanishing Cabinet without detection. It had made him ask Izar if the Dark Lord could spare the students. _

_It made him pathetically weak and he hated it. _

_Draco breathed heavily, staring up at Izar. His hands subconsciously tightened around the box in his hold. "I will bring this to the Room of Requirements for our Lord. Make no mistake." _

Draco leaned further against his seat, staring at his trunk. Determination licked at his chest, surprising him at the intensity. He wanted to make his father proud; he wanted to be a threat in this war. And he'd kill the Mudblood Granger if he had to prove that.

He would.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar stood on top of the short cliff which sat in the middle of the sea. Behind him stood three Inner-Circle members, their stances stiff and uncomfortable next to the raging sea. Izar smiled beneath his gold mask, enjoying the feel of mist and water soaking sections of his dark robes. Outside, the sky was dark, not even the stars or moon wanted to brave the eternal void of darkness. The clouds were swollen, gracing the occupants out tonight with sharp snowflakes that turned into icy raindrops before they hit the ground.

The small mound of rock he stood upon was beginning to grow a layer of thick ice. Izar could have melted it magically, but he enjoyed the three behind him slipping flat on their faces if they moved suddenly.

Across from where he was positioned, a cave sat. Above the cave in question, upon the cliffs, stood other cloaked figures, their positions held on Izar's word.

It tasted odd, this position of power and control. After being in bed arrest for the days prior to New Year's Eve, Voldemort informed Izar that he would not be accompanying the selected Death Eaters on the raid. Izar and Lucius were the chosen co-leaders, their task simple, yet crucial. They would need to deposit the 'Horcrux' in the cave, all the while, luring Dumbledore's Order by the nose.

Severus Snape had been the one to whisper it in Dumbledore's ear about tonight. Izar had a feeling tonight would be Snape's last raid, as the man's 'usefulness' had been accomplished. And while Izar had planned on coming up with a way to spare the Potion Master's life, he had been unconscious for the better part of three days after constructing the two Horcruxes. Those days had been pure hell for Izar. He had remembered being persistent and needing to talk to Draco the day after creating the Horcruxes. His bout of stubbornness made his bed rest extend an extra two days and the chance of fainting in Voldemort's arms immediately after the conversation with Malfoy.

It was humiliating. The way Voldemort had hovered. The way the man had always made sure Izar ingested blood every three hours. The way Izar had been too weak to even open his eyes.

What was even more challenging was Voldemort's insistence of reaming quiet about his past. When Izar had regained most of his strength to assess the items Voldemort had chosen for the Horcruxes, the Black heir had asked after each item, wanting to know the history and how it tied in with Voldemort's past. The Dark Lord became cold and dismissive—leaving the bedroom for a full day before returning with his tail tucked between his legs.

The man then explained that the majority of the items, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, and the Slytherin locket were just heirlooms, mere trophies Voldemort had been interested in obtaining. The diary was just a silly idea Voldemort had, as he had come up empty-handed on the seventh artifact. The ring though, the ring was what Voldemort refused to speak about. He had offered Izar an inane promise, stating that he would tell him in a matter of time.

Izar didn't know whether to believe the man or not. The ring was intriguing, only because the man seemed so possessive over it. Out of all the artifacts, the ring was the only one that had been duplicated. Voldemort refused to have it destroyed. And the Dark Lord also requested the ring to be the last Horcrux hunted.

As Izar listened, he had noticed the slight glimmer of emotion behind those crimson eyes. The man knew something and he was withholding it from Izar. With only the promise that the ring would be _the_ Horcrux that would kill Dumbledore and lure the man by himself, Voldemort had dropped the topic.

It didn't matter. Izar was patient. And he had an eternity to find out about Voldemort's past.

"Do you reckon we could go inside now?" Augustus Rookwood asked, his voice slightly trembling from the cold.

Izar sighed softly. "Only a couple minutes longer. I'm afraid I'm enjoying the weather far too much to cut it short." Silence met his statement. Really, was he the only one with a sense of humor? He supposed those many days in bed had rendered him as humorless as Pansy Parkinson.

Taking out the beautiful pocket watch Voldemort gifted to him last Yuletide, Izar considered the ticking hand. The sound of time passing seemed to comfort him. Odd that he would be alive for each and every second until the earth destroyed itself.

"You're doing this out of spite, aren't you, little Black?" Rookwood pestered, his voice an amused interest. "Those standing across from us, upon the cliffs, must be cursing your name as we speak. And you're taking a sick enjoyment out of it."

Izar's lips thinned into a harsh smile. "If only I could hear them now. It would make everything so much more worthwhile." He snapped the cover to the pocket watch closed, sliding it back into his pocket.

"Don't think _we _aren't cursing your name, Black. Have you even begun to remove the protective charms surrounding the cave so we can Apparate inside?" Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix's husband, grounded out in question.

Izar turned to look at the trio over his shoulder, the two Lestrange brothers and Augustus Rookwood. A decent group, but not Izar's preferred. The rest of the Inner-Circle and a few Second Tier Death Eaters were across from them, standing patiently… or… not so patiently. One person, in particular, was standing with a silver mask, not at all affected by Izar's insistence of making them wait. It was that man Izar wanted to annoy, and he knew this was all but a childish game to flourish in that task.

Lord Voldemort said he wasn't accompanying them on this raid, to keep up appearances for their enemies. After all, Lord Voldemort does not busy himself with a task that his Death Eaters can accomplish. Tom Riddle, however, would attend the raid. The man hadn't informed Izar of his plan but the Black heir had noticed the familiar aura in the group before they had Apparated here. Voldemort was once again disguised as a younger adult, his statue shorter and smaller than Izar's own. Izar has yet to see what form the man fancies to take during his disguise, but he assumed it was a young Tom Riddle.

And Izar was damned curious to see the Dark Lord's young face.

"The protective charms?" Izar asked, raising his eyebrows from beneath his mask. "Oh, dear me, I must have forgotten to mention that I took them down quite a while ago."

Spluttering issued from behind him, making the younger wizard grin broadly. Rabastan elbowed past him before Disapparating with a sharp _crack_ with his brother right on his heels. Before Rookwood Disapparated, the man clapped Izar playfully on the back of the head. Smirking, Izar lifted his arm and waved his lit wand across from him at the others. People were far too easy to get riled up…

Izar watched as they slowly disappeared from the cliffs above the cave before he Dissapparated himself. He grunted when he landed heavily on a rocky surface, putting all his effort to standing upright in the eyes of the watchful Death Eaters. He could just _feel _their dissatisfaction coming off them in waves. He took that as success for getting their panties in a bundle.

The Black heir straightened up, eyeing the Death Eaters. They were lined up in front of a murky lake, their eyes taking him in darkly. "I can see you are all thrilled to be here," Izar commented.

One of the few women, a short and stout figure, stepped forward. "If you hadn't made us wait in the freezing rain, perhaps then we would be greeting your arrival on our knees, boy." Her voice dripped of sarcasm and Izar found her oddly endearing.

Izar tsked. "You're a witch, are you not? You could have put up an easy warming charm."

"Our task," Lucius interrupted, stepping next to Izar. "Is exceedingly important. The Dark Lord entrusted us with an artifact that is to be protected at all costs. There are whispers that the Light has been informed of our location and the item we are protecting. Our first goal is to deposit the artifact here, beneath this." Lucius held up a vial of glowing green liquid. "Afterward, we will place multiple protection charms and wards around the cave. However, if the Light does show their face, we must take the artifact back with us. They must _not _lay hands on it."

The Death Eaters were all oblivious to the true intentions of Izar and Voldemort. Both planned on the Light getting their hands on the locket, but they wanted the Death Eaters to remain clueless to that fact. It was important that the smarter Death Eaters, like Lucius and the Lestrange's believed Voldemort had Horcruxes. _No one _knew that Voldemort was immortal through creature blood besides Izar. And it would stay that way.

"And the artifact? What is it?"

Izar grasped the locket from inside his pocket and held it up for the Death Eaters to see.

"A pocket watch?" one of them murmured in confusion.

"Wrong item, Mr. Black," Lucius mumbled with heavy amusement. Bellatrix gave a screeching laugh, the echo dancing across the cave and only heightening in volume.

Izar turned, realizing he was holding his pocket watch instead of the locket. He grimaced beneath his mask, knowing his stomach knotted out of embarrassment more than nerves for the upcoming battle. "I was only showing off the gift I received, Lucius," Izar murmured, trying to make the situation lean in his favor. Nonetheless, Izar tucked his pocket watch back into his robes. He dared not look in the Dark Lord's direction.

"Ah," Lucius exclaimed lightly. "And it is truly an appropriate gift for you, Mr. Black."

Sparing the man a glower, Izar grabbed hold of the locket and held it by the chain. The heavy gold item swung back and forth, seemingly swelling with darkness and despondency. There was no smart comments from the observing Death Eaters, only because they _could _feel something unnatural coming from the Horcrux. This was no ordinary locket to them.

Next to Izar, Lucius' eyes glazed over as he stared at the piece of jewelry. There were more than a handful of Death Eaters who had suspicions of what the artifact was supposed to be. Their eyes were full of desire and a fierce protectiveness. Voldemort and Izar had discussed the possibility of Death Eaters dying in order to protect a faux Horcrux. It was the Dark Lord that expressed he did not care, as long as he had the Order.

"You three," Izar pointed toward three minor Death Eaters, "will take this across the lake on the small land mass there. Upon the island, you will see a bowl. Discard the locket first and then pour the potion over it. Can you handle this task?"

The three Death Eaters nodded quickly, not wanting to be seen as weak in front of the others. As soon as Izar placed it in one of the Death Eater's hands, he could feel the approaching auras.

The Order had arrived.

Izar stalked to the edge of the rocky shore, watching hungrily as his invention was delivered to the island across from him. He was eager, so eager to see it work. This would be the first Horcrux that would be destroyed by the Light and Izar was far too excited for his own good.

The dropped privacy charms allowed the three Death Eaters to Apparate to the island instead of taking the available boat sitting calmly upon the water or swimming. As Izar observed the trio, he could feel the body hovering behind him. He knew it was Voldemort and he knew the Dark Lord was just as eager to see this through.

The sound of gold dropping into the rock-like bowl echoed across the cave and seemed to stop time. Just before the second Death Eater was able to pour the Drink of Despair over the locket, multiple sounds of Apparation sounded throughout the cave. The three Death Eaters standing next to the locket were magically pushed backward and into the water. Before the Order members on the island could take the locket, Izar quickly stunned the three, being the only one who had reflexes quick enough.

He jumped on a higher elevation and chanted a protective charm around the island. No one would be able to Apparate there quickly. They would either have to swim or take the time on _this _end to drop it down.

Izar chuckled lowly, turning to assess the battle beneath him. They were equally matched. One dueling couple, in particular, caught Izar's attention. Lily Potter and Bellatrix were engaged in a fierce battle. Lily had an expression of aggressive determination, accompanied by a certain coldness Izar was used to seeing. Bellatrix, on the other hand, had a wide grin on her face as she taunted his mother.

Tom Riddle was currently engaged in a slow duel with a redheaded man. Izar wondered if the Dark Lord was pained from having to parade himself as someone of average level. How long could the man keep up his act?

Jumping from the overhang, Izar landed behind a man with greying brown hair. The strong and angular features were familiar to Izar and he knew this to be Edgar Bones, Amelia's brother. The Bones family were very respected members of society, and apparently worthy opponents.

"Aren't you curious to know what happened to your sister?" Izar drawled behind the man.

Edgar turned on his heel, staring at Izar in slight astonishment before he narrowed his eyes in anger. Beside them, James Potter was close by, glancing at the pair ever-so often. Apparently, his opponent was not challenging him enough. If the man wanted entertainment, then Izar was more than happy to provide the man with some.

"She went missing during Yuletide, did she not?" Izar continued, caressing his wand. He preferred his prey riled up and full of bloodlust. "She might have been missing for her family gathering, but she was right on time for our celebration that night."

A vein protruded from Edgar's forehead and the man gave a battle cry. The hex coming from his wand was like a gunshot, most likely just as painful. Izar batted it away, making a pushing motion with both his hands. The man flew back against the rocky wall, falling lifelessly to the ground. Izar blinked, disappointment that such a proclaimed wizard had died so quickly.

Much to his pleasure, Potter stunned his opponent hastily and gave a side-long lunge in Izar's direction. The two faced one another, one clueless to the other's identity. Izar smiled at the man from behind his mask, eager. Potter struck, his face mimicking his wife's.

Izar remained on the defensive in order to find out what James' fighting style was. The man's dueling technique was a lot like Rufus Scrimgeour's; very Gryffindor-like with advancing steps forward and bold moves. It was completely offensive and Izar was looking forward to playing on that. When was the last time James Potter fought with an enemy who was dominant on the offense?

Dipping low, Izar dodged the curse that brushed his hair. He rolled sharply, catching Potter's legs in a tight bind and pulling the man upside down. Potter struggled, both irritated at the juvenile move and furious to be taken advantage of. Disarming the man, Izar threw his arm up, racing the prideful pure-blood to the ceiling before throwing his arm back down.

It was tempting to bring the man all the way down at full force. The power behind Izar's influence would certainly crack the man's skull open and kill him instantly. But Izar found himself stopping the man's descent a hair's length from the ground. Potter's face was beat-red and his glasses were askew. Before Izar could taunt the man, Potter threw up his hand and wandlessly escaped from the invisible constraints.

Impressed, Izar paused in casting another curse, watching as Potter flipped gracefully into a standing position. "What will you do now?" Izar inquired, waving Potter's wand. "I have your wand."

Lifting his lip, Potter reached for his wand. If Izar hadn't been ready, the man's wand would have ripped from his grasp. Instead, Izar gripped the wand tighter and used his magic-sensitivity to tug on the glittery rope he could see from Potter's wandless magic. The man stumbled forward; flabbergasted as his grip on his wandless summoning disappeared abruptly.

Messy black hair veiled the man's expression as he glanced up. "Izar?" The Black heir cocked his head to the side in answer. Potter's face quivered before turning redder. "Either kill me or stop toying with me. Give me a fair fight, _damnit_!"

"I don't want to kill you," Izar whispered silkily. "You're far too much fun. Besides, what would my mother think of me?"

Potter placed his hands on his legs, breathing heavily. "I suppose this is answer enough for my proposal the other day."

Izar wondered on that. It would be easier to kill the man now and save the Dark from any future meddling the pure-blood would likely attempt. But Izar found himself unwilling to kill this prideful creature just yet. "The Dark Lord sends his regards, but would have to decline at this time." Izar threw the man's wand back to him, preparing himself for a real duel.

As soon as James caught his wand, he sliced it across his chest, sending Izar a nasty stinging hex. The Black heir caught it on the tip of his wand, using his invented spell to send it back to Potter without any extra wand movements. Before James could properly block it, Izar was already throwing his next curse. The two spells collided with one another, crashing into Potter's shield, but not breaking it apart.

Izar's assumptions were correct. Potter was an offensive fighter; he looked undeniably sloppy on the defense. Izar lunged forward, taking little pity on the man as he forcibly peeled away the man's shield and broke the man's glasses in half with another wave of his wand. The spectacles fell from Potter's nose, shattering on the ground at their feet.

"Contacts, love," Izar encouraged, raising his wand in preparation for a more ruthless attack. However, before he could conjure a creative idea, Izar watched as Lucius Malfoy took a brutal slicing hex across his face and down to his groin from Alastor Moody.

Izar pursed his lips as Lucius fell in the water, unquestionably to his death. The Black heir's fingers gripped his wand tighter as he debated. Potter was at his mercy right now and Izar was having _fun_. But… the blond was… someone Izar valued unquestionably. It was these _damn _morals that he inherited from a sane Lily Potter.

Potter, who had just cast a corrective optical charm, opened his eyes to see Izar's wand inches from his face. The man's skin grew white and Izar smirked. "_Stupefy," _the Black heir whispered. Potter went stiff. Before his body hit the ground, Izar was already across the rocky terrain and stalking the length of the shore. He hid himself behind a high pillar of stone and summoned Lucius' body to him.

Worry gnawed at him when he witnessed the pallor of Lucius' face. The man's ice-like hair blended perfectly against his skin and the water was stained red from the amount of blood pouring from the pure-blood. Izar crouched, taking the seemingly unconscious figure beneath his arms and hauling him on above ground. The man spluttered, water and blood flying from his damaged blue lips.

Laying the man flat on the ground, Izar assessed the damage, realizing that this was far too advanced for him. A simple cut was about the extent of Izar's knowledge in Healing. Healing had never been his area of interest. _This _was… this was past his control.

The severing hex had split the man's body in half, starting at his face. The skin on his lips and neck were divided, already swollen and bleeding. Around the torso, the intestines were visible if Izar looked hard enough. It was ugly and the air stunk of exposed internal organs. Lucius' eyelids fluttered as they looked up at Izar, a sharp wheezing escaping past his impaired lips as he struggled to intake needed oxygen.

"Izar," the man whispered brokenly, painfully.

Not knowing how the man was aware of his identify behind the mask, Izar leaned closer, his eyes desperate. "I don't know what to do." Was it his imagination or did his voice break? His hands floated and trembled over the long wound, pressing on it to compress it but also causing blood to spurt from above his hands and below. He shuddered, never seeing gore like this on someone he…

Lucius' eyes were focused intentionally on Izar, the sharp wit and intelligence seemingly dried out. The man's heartbeat was slow, skipping a few rhythms in between. Death was upon the blond and Izar found himself afraid of that notion. Death… silly how he could think so little of it on people he despised, but currently finding it too frightening to face.

He stroked the man's wet locks, not knowing what to do. When Death Eaters fell, they fell for the honor of fighting for their Lord. There were no Healers, there were no fellow comrades to pick them up and assist them. It was a cruel and hard army, everyone for themselves or for the Dark Lord.

Keeping his eyes locked on the trembling man, Izar ran his wand down the length of the wound, chanting a Latin incantation. It would stop the bleeding for a few moments and seal the wound for a fraction of a minute before the meek spell would wear down.

"_Izar_," the man whispered once again.

Lucius' lips scarcely moved and the volume barely escaped past his throat, but Izar could hear it with clarity. Behind him, there were other splashes in the lake as the battle resumed around them. But he was just as frozen as Lucius was, the latter unable to even lift his arms or twitch his fingers. Oddly enough, the silver eyes dropped from Izar and stared downward. The Black heir followed the motion, blinking when he noticed a slight bulge in the man's robes. With the bump was the steady ringing of magic.

Izar pulled away from Lucius and dug in the man's wet pockets. He pulled out a leather case, feeling the aura around it and recognizing the item before opening it. A Portkey. The signature and properties of the Portkey were similar to the one Izar received before transporting to the Malfoy Manor during Yuletide. Inside, a Malfoy signet ring sat, sparkling up at Izar cruelly.

The Black heir leaned forward, taking Lucius hand and touching it to the ring. Both the Porktey and the blond were gone in a matter of seconds, leaving Izar crouching in a dark corner by himself.

Many things could go wrong with what he had just done. The landing from the Portkey could ruin Lucius' wounds a tenfold, killing the man on impact. Either that or he would die alone, Narcissa and the elves unaware of his presence. But it was an emergency Portkey, Izar knew. The Malfoy's would have taken precautions for something like this.

Izar leaned against the rocky pillar, finding himself tense and unwillingly frozen. He hated that Lucius and death could affect him like it had. And somehow, he finally understood Voldemort's insistence to remain immortal—his fear of death.

Glancing across at the island, he examined the protection charms as they bowed outward, ready to fall. Anger, so heavy and suffocating, sparked brightly behind Izar's eyes. His fists curled at their sides in order to stop their shaking. It was meant to happen, it was _supposed _to happen. The Light was meant to destroy the locket, but the wizard who was currently peeling apart Izar's protection wards triggered an intense anger in him.

Dumbledore.

Add the old fool on top of Lucius' near death, Izar found himself more determined than ever to fight with the man. It was foolish. Dumbledore was a Light Lord and Izar was only above average. Wasn't he? He had never dueled a Lord before and quite frankly the idea made him salivate. Voldemort was not here to fight against Dumbledore and Tom Riddle wouldn't uncover his position unless absolutely necessary.

It was Izar's turn.

Standing tall from his crouched position, he threw his arm out, reinforcing the charms around the fake Horcrux. Slowly, he stepped out from the alcove and sought the old fool. The old wizard was standing at the very edge of the rocky shore, his shoes and robes stained with the murky water. Bright blue eyes turned away from the island and on an approaching Izar.

Izar pulled his mask off his face, becoming too suffocated with the heavy metal on his skin. He pointed his wand at Dumbledore, slowing to a saunter.

"Izar Black," Dumbledore greeted, albeit a bit sadly.

"_Don't _begin to patronize me, old man," Izar hissed.

Within his long beard, Dumbledore's lips thinned grimly. He raised his wand, twitching it ever so slightly. Rocks rose from their position before beginning to twirl lazily in front of Izar. The younger watched the spectacle with an air of monotony. Mentally, though, he was taking note on how the man's aura seemed to brighten and grow, becoming almost overwhelming. Izar prepared himself, knowing this would be no duel against James Potter or even Bellatrix Lestrange. This was against a man who Voldemort couldn't defeat.

The rocks suddenly sharpened magically, nonverbally. It hit Izar that Lords didn't rely on incantations— they relied on shows of extreme power and will. Izar swallowed, knowing he wasn't experienced in this kind of duel but he would do his _damnest. _

The pieces of ground stopped their twirling and angled toward Izar. With quickness even Izar had trouble tracking, the rocks flew toward him. He took an ungraceful step backward, raising the ground in front of him and blocking the knife-like rocks. Some of them made indentations through the large piece of ground Izar pulled upward. The Black heir slumped against the raised platform, gathering himself.

His eyes turned toward the raised cliff to the side of the cave and noticed the figure crouched there. Riddle was leaning forward on the balls of his feet, watching Izar closely. The Dark Lord had an air of unease about him as he surveyed the situation, debating if he should step in or not.

What pity… to have a mate that couldn't defend themselves, Izar thought. What was it like for Voldemort to see Izar cower behind a shield in the face of an enemy? If the roles were reversed, Izar would be disgusted.

He bowed his head, gathering his magic before jumping on the raised earth and facing Dumbledore. The man had been ready and cast a bullet of magic in his direction. Izar batted it away, his wand burning hotly in his hand at the action. Dumbledore considered Izar for a moment, the old fool regrettably on offense until Izar grew more confident.

Dumbledore thought Izar was a vampire. The man would cast typical curses one would use against a vampire and Izar would have to be prepared to stop them.

The Headmaster brought back his wand, creating a large phoenix out of Fiendfyre. The phoenix spread its wings, singing shrilly and causing Izar's ears to split. He balanced on the balls of his feet, throwing his wand out toward the lake and twirling his wrist. It seemed almost forever until the water bubbled, looking as if a mere toddler had control over it.

Izar hissed angrily, observing the Fiendfyre out of the corner of his eye as it sprang toward him. With his will and magic, he raised the water from the lake and swirled it in their direction. The closer the wave of water came, the more it began to split into two snake-like figures.

Laughing at the overwhelming sensation of the magic thickening in the air, Izar threw his arms back, willing the serpents to attack both Dumbledore and his damned fire-phoenix. The water serpents easily slithered in the air, their mouths open to expose their fangs. Crisscrossing one another, they attacked the phoenix and easily over powered the creature. The flames doused under Izar's influence before the serpents turned their attention on the old wizard. In defense, Dumbledore crossed his forearms over his head and tore apart the serpents and their form.

Water fell heavily on Izar and the other wizards in the proximity. He swiped at his hair before jumping down off the platform and inching closer to Dumbledore. Tugging his wand upward, he crystalized the water on the ground and flung them at Dumbledore. The Headmaster batted his wand, effectively crushing them before they came in contact with his skin.

Izar observed the old man, deciding it was time to take this duel into _his _hands and manipulate it to a step he was comfortable with. Every spell he could think of, he cast it in quick session. Dumbledore easily deflected them away, sometimes turning them back on Izar. Both of them never paused to consider their next step. Soon, more than three spells were being cast at a time and blocked harshly away.

Izar found his unease slowly dissipating and his excitement growing. No one had ever challenged him like _this _before. In the back of his mind, he was aware of the protective shields around the Horcrux dropping. It didn't bother Izar. As long as the members of the Order were the ones to obtain the Horcrux, it didn't matter.

Twisting and pivoting on his feet, Izar kept his arms above his shoulders, blocking and catching the curses coming in his direction. All the while, he continued to move closer to Dumbledore. Close-rage fighting was usually a discomfort for most wizards and Izar speculated that Dumbledore was no exception.

"Tired?" Izar asked in genuine curiosity as he heard the heavy breathing and witnessed the flushed face.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, suddenly lowering his wand and catching Izar's leg. The Black heir hadn't expected such a low move from the wizard and found himself soaring backward. He landed heavily on the rocky ground, barely turning in time to avoid a curse that exploded the rocks next to him. Izar advanced quicker toward Dumbledore, detecting the man was uncomfortable with close proximity and using it to his advantage. Did the man think he would attack him physically? That _was _a potential thought…

Allowing his quick mind to take over, Izar cast a rebounding shield behind Dumbledore. The man had barely paid attention to the spell that missed his shoulder, oblivious to Izar's intention. The Black heir then cast a slicing hex over Dumbledore's head and watched as the curse rebounded off the shield and hit Dumbledore in the back. The old man gasped hoarsely, his face twisting into one of pain and surprise.

Izar raised his hand, knowing he could have killed the man during his moment of weakness. But he stopped, knowing that Dumbledore was Voldemort's enemy.

Suddenly, the cave gave a shrill groan as magic, dripping with darkness, washed through the cavern. Izar grinned silly, hearing the scream of the _poor, _poorindividual caught by the Horcruxe's thrall—Izar's invention.

Looking up, he found his grin freezing in place as he identified the wizard holding a sword over the fallen locket. Izar's wand dropped from his slack fingers, creating a hollow echoing across the cave. A scream of denial, swollen with a sense of anguish, followed the wands' descend and Izar realized it was him making the pathetic sound.

Dumbledore frowned, turning sharply at what caught Izar's and the others' attention. The wizards gathered stood in shell-shock, watching a rigid Sirius Black fall to the ground before his corpse was consumed with pitiless flames. Only seconds passed before the flames disappeared, leaving behind a black corpse full of grinning white teeth.

Izar stood there, his body trembling. Around him, there were sounds of Disapparation as the Order slowly began to depart—full of confusion and despair.

"Izar…" Bellatrix cooed softly, her voice lacking the typical hint of insanity. She reached for his arm, but he pulled it away sharply. "He was on the wrong _side_!" she screamed shrilly. "You must realize it was out of your power!"

_How wrong she was. _Izar turned to her. Something in his expression must have frightened her, for she took a step back. "Bring them back to the base. Make certain Lucius is accounted for at his Manor. Do you understand me?"

"Where will you be?" she demanded, the Death Eaters slowly herding together behind her. Her hands once again tried to curl around his wrists, but he invaded her. "Our Lord expects you back."

Izar ignored her, calling his fallen wand to him and Apparating to the island in the middle of the lake. He stood above the burnt body at his feet. Before anyone tried to stop him, Izar curled his hand around Sirius' wrist and Disapparated them away from the cave, away from prying ears and eyes.

They arrived in the field near the Black Manor in Scotland. The snow was knee deep and the freezing rain and wind were unrelenting. Izar cradled the burnt corpse to his chest, smiling thinly before laying Sirius down gently. He stared down at the body, not _seeing _any recognizable features of the man he came to…

Izar blinked heavily, recalling his words to Regulus those many months ago.

_Izar stood up with ease, walking silently over to the stone hearth and leaning his forehead against the distressed oak mantle. "He's your brother," Izar drawled lazily, darkly. "Do you not feel any torment that you may have to fight against him?"_

_A light snort answered him. "Your character surprises me, Izar. For the most part, you are impassive and completely dismissive of those vulnerable and beneath you. And yet, you seem to grow and nurture attachments. These bonds… these relationships, they are your weakness. You seem almost warm and shielding, compassionate, to those who you deem under your protection. It is both a wonderful and dangerous trait to have, Izar."_

_Izar narrowed his eyes in the flames, feeling it lick painfully against his skin. Behind him, he could hear Regulus stand and approach him. An arm curled across his waist and his father's breath tickled his turned cheek. "You must be willing to understand that you may have to kill Sirius in order to gain the bigger goal. Perhaps not you personally, but his death may be just that one life standing in our way. You have to look at who you're supporting, what you're fighting for. Would you rather choose Sirius' life over the opportunity for the Dark side to prevail?"_

_Rough stubble from Regulus' short goatee rubbed across Izar's cheek in an innocent reassurance._

_"I would find a way to do both," Izar boasted softly._

_His father chuckled. "Just the answer I was expecting."_

He would find a way to do both…

How laughable was that?

Izar laughed deliriously into the howling wind, his screams of empty delight slowly turning into sharp cries of loss.

* * *

{**Notes**} Forgot to delete my notes/spoilers at the end of the document from when I was writing this chapter :/ For those of you who saw them before I deleted them, *please* keep quiet to what you saw/read *Nervous laugh*. Wow.


	60. Part II Chapter 28

_I know it's shocking, but there will be small fluffiness in this chapter between Voldemort and Izar. I'm actually surprised at how long they remained neutral in one another's company. _

_Thanks for those who took the time to review. It means a lot to me. I also would like to thank both Chibi Chocobo-chan & Hysterical Mirth for creating artwork for the story. If you'd like to see the wonderful work, the link is posted on my profile. Enjoy. _

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

For hours it seemed to continue raining sharp splinters of ice. There were a few times the icicles cut into Izar's face, cutting the supple and flawless skin. Crimson drops swelled down his cheeks before staining the snow beneath him. As soon as the single drop of blood hit the ground, the cut on his face would have already healed.

The Black heir was kneeling on the ground, his torso stretched over the deep snow and toward the burned corpse nearby. One hand remained curled around the brittle fingers of his uncle while his opposite hand lay uselessly to the side. He pressed his cheek into the snow as he gazed upward at the gruesome sight of the black skull. He didn't know how long he laid in the snow, or how long he kept his eyes trained on his uncle. The man just wouldn't _move_.

Izar sighed softly, his lips pursing and relaxing. The sun had risen and fallen, mimicking alternative phases to Izar's mentality.

He had never experienced loss before. The sensation of losing someone so close burned him badly and left an empty void he knew he could never fill. Sirius had been someone in Izar's life who had made light of situations, who had taught him that humor could be used doubtless of the circumstances. Sirius was also loyal to boot, the most trustworthy man Izar had ever come in contact with. While Sirius' aura had always craved the Dark, the man's personality was pure—untarnished by the cruelties in the world.

The memories with Sirius would always stay with Izar, no matter how long he survived eternity; the way the man had walked so skillfully in those high heels, the way the man had always called Izar 'kid' and refused to let Izar believe his family didn't love him. Such small things, such insignificant memories—but treasured by Izar all the same.

Hours of reminiscing and anger then brought acceptance. There was no doubt that Izar could have prevented Sirius' death. And there was also no doubt that he had been the one to kill him. But… they had been fighting for what they believed in and they had been on separate sides of the battlefield. Sirius had flown free the night Izar released him from his duties at Diagon Alley. The spark had returned in his uncle's eyes and the carefree attitude had settled back in.

Sirius died for his cause, for his beliefs, and that was the most honorable death in Izar's eyes.

Izar might have made the promise to Regulus that he would find a way to protect Sirius _and _fight for the Dark at the same time. Looking back on it now, Izar never realized how foolish and naïve that promise was. Wasn't it just yesterday… or the day before that he warned Draco against the same thing? Izar wondered why Regulus had encouraged his naïve statement. Then again, Regulus had been the one to try to explain what Izar was now slowly coming to realize.

Regulus had gone through the same thing as a young adult. He tried to have Lily—a family—and still support the Dark. His decision to try to hold on to both ended up in tragedy.

Izar closed his eyes, feeling his ice-like eyelashes brush the skin beneath his eyes. Sirius' passing had also brought with it a grim knowledge. If Izar hadn't already understood the bleak isolation of immortality, he did now. Not only the passing of others, such as Regulus, but also the knowledge that Izar would be unable to form any emotional bonds for any of the other 'phases' of his eternity of games. People would be just pawns, mere puppets he and Voldemort could play with.

The games didn't bother him. He enjoyed the games he played with Voldemort and could see himself participating for eternity—on top of inventing and experimenting. What bothered him was the desolate seclusion.

When he came to this conclusion, he had _hated _Voldemort more than he had ever hated him before for subjecting Izar to the same fate. But like most things, the hate had cooled and morphed into immense pity. He pitied Tom Riddle and he felt sorry for him. For someone to be so afraid of death that they would chose an eternity of isolation entitled pity on Izar's behalf. Now, more than ever, Izar began to see Voldemort's real reason for wanting a mate. It was about keeping each other on their toes, but it was also about companionship.

Their relationship was twisted, sick at times, but Izar vowed he would be a solid companion to Voldemort and the man would be the same.

Izar slowly pushed himself from the snow, crawling closer to Sirius. Despite all his forthcomings and acceptance, the loss still burned brightly in his chest. "I envy _you_," Izar whispered hoarsely, staring down at the empty eye sockets. There were no eyes there, only an empty void that pulled Izar in unwillingly. Ripping his eyes away from Sirius' horrified and destroyed features, Izar studied the moon hanging crookedly in the sky. The Black heir heaved a thick sigh, his mouth deepening into a heavy from. "I suppose you want to be put to rest properly."

He assessed the Black Manor a few yards away, knowing already that Sirius couldn't be buried in a private Black graveyard. Sirius had been disowned as a boy and he had never looked back on his decision to walk away. Unlike most, Sirius knew what he was sacrificing would always be gone. The least Izar could do was bring his uncle's body to someone who knew that just as well as he did.

Rocking unsteadily to his feet, Izar took a hold of Sirius' stiff wrist and Disapparated.

Appearing outside the Potter household, Izar knew he would have to accomplish this quickly, for the wards were already buzzing. Gathering Sirius' corpse, Izar carried the brittle and stiff body bridal style on his way up the sidewalk. Luckily, before he had to knock or come close to the front door, it opened. James Potter, minus his glasses, stepped out, his wand elevated on Izar. Behind him, Lily stood, appearing in one piece despite her earlier duel with Bellatrix.

James took one look at the corpse in Izar's arms and trembled, his face breaking for a blinking second. "Is… is that him?" Potter questioned, his voice just as scratchy as Izar's.

Izar kept his eyes on the trained wand as he leaned down to set Sirius on the snow in front of him. "Sirius? Who else could have a ridiculous grin like that?" Izar stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching the two Potters stand shell-shocked. "All I request is for the burial he warrants. He was a respected Auror and a true member of the Light. He didn't deserve to rot in a cave by himself."

James recovered quickly, nodded sharply, the redness around his eyes a clear indication the man was already mourning his friend's departing. Izar gave one last look at Sirius before he turned to leave. Before he could Disapparate, he heard Potter shout behind him.

"_No_, Lily!"

"Hush, James," Lily scolded.

Izar turned, watching as the petite redheaded witch came down the stairs and towards him. Her lips were forming a thin line as she ran her eyes across his face. She stopped a few inches from him and mother and son observed one another wordlessly.

Unexpectedly, she leaned forward, engulfing him in an embrace. It was all he could do to keep from flinching at the abrupt movement. The two were both rigid in the embrace, not at all the image of a seamless mother and son. Izar hesitantly placed a hand on her back out of habit more than adoration. She tightened her arms around his torso as her hands fisted the back of his robes. The woman placed her head near his throat, seemingly breathing in his scent.

"He loved you," she whispered softly. "He loved you _so _much." Lily squeezed him once more before letting go. She took a step back, dry of any tears, but there was a light struggling to remain lit in her eyes. She reached forward, stroking the back of her fingers against his cheek. "Thank you for bringing him back home, Izar."

Izar could only nod, unsure if his voice would work properly in the face of the woman's confession. He turned, slowly walking away from his mother and the corpse of the man he came to love.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar knew he should have gone to find Voldemort as soon as he entered the base, but he found himself slowly walking the dark corridors, searching out the infirmary. Considering the healing potions and antibacterial lotions were strong enough on human noses, Izar followed the stench with his creature-like senses. It lead him two floors below the entrance and dangerously close to Voldemort's chambers.

"Are you now a prisoner here?" Izar murmured to the man's back. The young wizard leaned against the doorframe, eyeing Severus Snape as the man brewed a foul smelling concoction. "You weren't at the battle yesterday night."

Snape turned, staring at Izar critically through fallen bangs. "And you haven't been seen for over a day."

"I come and go as I please," Izar retorted sharply, not inclined to remember his day lying in the snow with Sirius. If anyone found out about his lapse of reality, the small platform he built himself would collapse beneath his feet. It wasn't something he had been proud of, mulling over the corpse's stillness, but it had been a necessary healing process.

Snape's lips twitched sardonically. "When you are nothing but a prisoner yourself? I _highly_ doubt your valiant avowal." Onyx eyes traveled across Izar's unkempt appearance; the tattered cloak torn at the knees, the tiny holes puncturing his pants, and the dirt and char smudges across his skin. "The Dark Lord has been in a foul mood since your absenteeism, I daresay."

Izar crossed his arms over his chest, not inclined to react to the man's statement. "You would think, if you found your head on the chopping block, that you wouldn't try to bait me with such tactics, Severus. The Dark Lord is _always _in a foul mood, it has nothing to do with my _short _absence." The man was mocking him, trying to get Izar to acknowledge his sway over Voldemort's moods. But why mock Izar when Severus already knew a semblance of the truth?

Out of all the players in this game, Severus was the one that held the most information. Lucius knew the bare minimum—the fact that Izar and Voldemort were sexually involved. Regulus, while he knew just as much as Severus, liked to turn a blind eye to Izar's less than moral decisions. Regulus enjoyed pointing out how malicious the Dark Lord was for taking _advantage _over Izar. His father refused to believe that Izar just enjoyed taking a flying leap and diving head-first in a challenge with Voldemort. His father also couldn't swallow the fact that Izar was open to physical intimacy with the Dark Lord.

Severus, however, was not attached to Izar like Regulus was. Snape could see the insanity in Izar without worrying, without judging. And that made the man more dangerous than Regulus doubtless that they held the same information. They both knew Izar was immortal and they both knew that the Dark Lord and Izar were a… _couple_.

Severus' mouth thinned. "Be that as it may, you cannot continue to frolic through town when so many enemies are sniffing your trail."

Breathing heavily through his nose, Izar pushed off from the doorframe and entered the infirmary. It was a relatively large room, rivaling the appearance of the Hogwarts' infirmary right down to the adjacent beds with privacy curtains. The potion lab was set in the corner near the entrance. It was small, but it had all the ingredients a Potions Master would find to assist their brewing.

"Where is Lucius?" Izar questioned, turning the conversation back around in his favor. He did not need another man watching his actions and disproving. Izar had already experienced his fair share of them and the Dark Lord counted as _several_.

Severus' eyes reluctantly turned to the bed closest to them with the privacy curtains drawn. Izar made his way over, stretching his arm out and pulling back the curtains. The weightless fabric seemed far heavier than what was normal, and it could only mean Izar dreaded what was on the other side.

"He's been asking after you," Snape mused thoughtfully. "Ordinarily he is under the influence of a fever, but it broke this afternoon. He is out of critical condition and has moved into stable."

Lucius lay motionless on his cot, his angular and handsome features tilting upward toward the ceiling. The man was still painfully pale and there was a thick scar running from the bottom of his nose down to his neck and disappearing at the collar of his dressing robe. Izar remembered seeing the wound vividly. He knew it ran down to the man's groin in gruesome cruelty. And yet, despite the disfiguring characteristic, Izar found himself comforted by the steady rise and fall of the man's chest.

"I assume Narcissa found him?" Izar found himself asking the man at his back, but remained facing Lucius.

"Yes," Severus replied distractedly. The sound of ingredients dropping into the cauldron broke the calming rhythm of boiling liquid. "The Malfoy's designated a location for emergency usage. There are wards around the premises that will alert one another when a member of the family appears in need of assistance. He was fortunate to obtain attention when he had." Snape paused for a moment. "He has informed me that you saved his life."

Izar turned to Snape, examining the man as he stirred the potion. "I have the ability to do that at times," he replied crisply, pointedly. He was satisfied when Snape looked up suddenly, his eyes narrowing on him. Izar smirked darkly, turning back to Lucius. "I respect what you did for my father. While I find your scheme for saving his hide poorly executed, I understand that the man you were trying to fool can see through multiple of farces."

"I find little use speaking of the past, Mr. Black."

"Surely you cannot accept your fate?" Izar reached out to touch Lucius' hand, drawing it back suddenly when his cold fingers touched the man's warm knuckles. The blond flinched, but seemed to fall back unconscious. "You must be pleased to see the end of your pathetic and isolated life if you refuse to run like the Slytherin you claim to be. Do you hate your life so much that you stay rooted at the Dark Lord's manor until your usefulness runs out? A simple beck and call?"

And that was what the man was. Voldemort was enjoying the sight of Severus squirming, watching as the clock ticked away his existence. Voldemort adored the sensation of playing god—of holding life in his hands as if he had the power to control the one thing he feared the most, death.

Fathomless eyes searched Izar. "Who said my usefulness will run out?"

Izar blinked, a small smile curling the edges of his mouth despite his instance to remain impassive. The man had a sense of wit that Izar found pleasing. It was this man in front of him who had a hand in shaping who Izar was today. When Izar had been a student, he remembered staring at the man in hidden admiration as Snape used his tongue to cut down the students in order to bring them to their full potential.

"Indeed," Izar whispered. He narrowed his eyes on the man, trying to see something deeper, but grudgingly realizing that Severus Snape was one of the few he had trouble reading. "The teasing aside, sir, it doesn't have to be like this. You can ask me for assistance and I can aid you."

Severus' wrist snapped sharply as he tapped his stirring rod once against the brim of the cauldron before laying it down next to the low flames. The man's robes floated around his heels as he turned sharply, leaning against the table in order to study Izar. "Can you truly promise that, Mr. Black? Or is it wistful thinking on your behalf that if you bat your lashes long enough at our Lord he will find himself unable to resist your bidding?"

Izar pursed his lips as he watched the dark figure glide inside the infirmary behind Snape. He was tempted to take Snape's words into consideration and bat his eyelashes as the Dark Lord, but found himself turning his shoulder on the hooded figure.

He had no reason to feel guilty for leaving after the battle. Izar had needed that time to mourn Sirius and the memories and knowledge that accompanied his uncle's passing. Obviously, it wasn't in the Dark Lord's favor, but it was in Izar's. And that's all that mattered.

Izar _was _irritated at the man's timing, however. There were still issues Izar wanted to bring up with Snape—including Regulus' whereabouts. Voldemort's men couldn't locate him and Izar didn't want to hear that his father was under Dumbledore's protection. It wouldn't sit well with him.

For his part, Severus did not grovel at Voldemort's feet in apology. Instead, he gave a curt greeting, feigning nonchalance as he returned to his potion.

"I see you're back, uncle excluded," the Dark Lord spoke to Izar's turned back with a raspy whisper. "I would have thought you would be dragging his corpse along with you—"

"_Enough!" _Izar hissed in Parseltongue. He was furious at the man and his comment, yet he was still aware of their audience and _painfully_ aware of the boundaries he should respect. Though, if he thought about it, Voldemort was currently crossing his own boundaries. "At least allow his corpse to cool in his grave before you spit on it, My Lord," he added in a neutral tone, yet a tremor of bitterness lay beneath.

Through lowered lashes, Izar remained turned, staring at Lucius' oblivious face. He watched as the eyes beneath Lucius' closed eyelids began moving, either waking from unconsciousness or envisioning a dream. It wouldn't surprise Izar if Lucius woke, simply because the tension in the room was incredibly high. He could feel the crimson eyes watching his back along with Severus' strung aura, ready to exit the premises as soon as his potion was safe to simmer.

Slowly, Lucius' eyelids pried apart. The blond blinked rapidly, adjusting to consciousness, before his mercury eyes turned to Izar hovering over his bedside. Lips that would no longer be sculptured perfectly, parted into a small smile.

"Izar," the man whispered in cool greeting. Despite Lucius' current condition, the man somehow continued to hold on to his vanity and icy-pride.

"Lucius," Izar murmured in smug pleasure. "Not looking too good, I see." He smoothed out the mattress and settled at the edge only because it would irritate the Dark Lord. "Care to explain how Alastor Moody was able to get past your defenses so well?"

Lucius swallowed, appearing as if it pained him to do so. Doubtless of the struggling and ailing condition, Lucius' eyes were bright as they remained locked on Izar. "I'm a far better wizard, I reassure you. It was a trivial slip on my part." The man paused, his hand slowly reaching forward and encircling around Izar's wrist. Lucius had yet to take notice of their company and Izar didn't feel inclined to bring attention to it. "Rest assured, next time I see Alastor, his face will look far worse than my own."

"I can only imagine," Izar comforted. Alastor Moody was an infamous Auror and had yet to sustain any significant injury or disfiguration to show his prowess. Izar was certain a vengeful Lucius would remedy _that_ next time they saw one another.

Lucius' smile dimmed and his warm fingers stroked the nonexistent pulse-point on Izar's wrist. Voldemort's aura darkened considerably behind them and Izar only smiled thinly in response.

"I want to thank you," Lucius began sincerely.

Before he could continue, Izar cut him off. "There is no need to thank me, Lucius." He knew Lucius was prideful, and he knew that the man would bend his neck to thank Izar. The Black heir just didn't want to cause the man any unnecessary humility. Izar was aware of Lucius' gratitude and that was all that was needed. "If I ever need any assistance in the future, I know who I will approach." Lucius would also insist repaying Izar, hence the reason why Izar initiated the debt himself.

Lucius' eyelids became half-lidded in appreciation of Izar's forethought but they widened a fraction as they settled on a point above Izar's head. The man's fingers slowly unwound from his wrist just as a set of spidery fingers curled around Izar's neck one finger at a time.

"My Lord," Lucius greeted coolly, respectfully, if not apprehensively.

Izar's lips thinned as the fingers encircled his throat almost painfully, possessively. He tried to escape the clutch, but the fingers only tightened in response. Voldemort's opposite hand settled on top Izar's head, the nails entwining smugly in the black strands.

"Lucius, so glad you are progressing." Voldemort hissed maliciously. "I apologize for interrupting your time with Mr. Black; however, I require his wayward presence. _Now_."

And Izar barely had the time to plant his feet on the ground before he was pulled ruthlessly out the infirmary. He refused to meet Snape's eyes on the way out, too ashamed at being hauled out the room like a bloody _pet_. As soon as the two wizards entered the dark corridor, Voldemort tsked in disgust and pushed Izar away from him.

For his part, Izar did not stumble from the abrupt action. "Arsehole," Izar spat, straightening.

"I am not impressed with the game you have chosen to play with me," Voldemort whispered silkily in the shadows. He continued down the corridor and Izar reluctantly followed. "There is one thing I regret by turning you so young at the tender age of sixteen. An eternity of teenage hormones will not sit well with me, especially if you feel as if you can satisfy yourself with someone other than _me_. It will never happen; must you waste your efforts?"

A lazy smile crossed Izar's face as he reached across the dark space in the corridor and curled his fingers around Voldemort's robes. Crossing the distance, he backed the man against the stone wall, pressing his body into the Dark Lord as his legs straddled the man's lower body. Smirking up at the Dark Lord, Izar brushed down the hood separating him from the cruel features. He would never admit, to _anyone, _that he enjoyed making the Dark Lord threatened. It was a rarity that Izar got to see such an ugly human emotion in the man. Let the man believe it was _hormones _running Izar's actions.

He stood on his toes, inhaling the scent of the Dark Lord. "If it was hormones that you're worried about, then you wouldn't have a problem getting me in bed, would you? Instead, you find it a challenge to make me submit."

Just as Izar was about to pull away, tapered hands clasped his arse and slid downward to the back of Izar's thighs. The man then forcibly lifted the Black heir, taking special care to wrap Izar's legs around his waist before spinning their positions around. Izar's head hit the back of the wall as Voldemort forced his body against his.

"You seemed rather willing those many nights ago. Would you care to let me demonstrate how easily you become putty in my hands?"

Izar turned his cheek as Voldemort leaned forward for a kiss. "Willing? I hardly call it willing and more along the lines of wanting to escape creating those Horcruxes as punishment and under duress," Izar replied cheekily. He turned back around, reaching forward to run his fingertips down Voldemort's cheek. "At the time, sex outweighed punishment."

Voldemort's lips thinned, yet they curled at the edges. Something warm brightened behind the red eyes, as he leaned forward, caressing Izar's face with his nose and lips. The younger wizard closed his eyes at the unfamiliar, but welcome gesture. It was a gesture not usually associated with Voldemort. It was gentle, almost…_loving _and Izar found himself enjoying it for just this moment in time. He returned the caress, realizing they were all but _nuzzling. _

It was odd how Sirius' tragedy danced to the back of his mind when he was with Voldemort. Somehow, the world stopped turning when they were together, as if nothing else mattered but one another and their competitions they enjoyed participating in. Izar could now see how eternity was possible with this man.

"Why did you save him?" Voldemort demanded softly. "Two birds with one stone, I would wager."

Izar's eyes snapped open as he stared at the split-red eyes watching him. And then the man had to open his mouth…

He pushed at the Dark Lord's shoulders, separating their bodies. "I hope you don't consider Sirius and Lucius as part of that wager." It was difficult to swallow that Voldemort didn't care for his Death Eaters, that he wouldn't have cared if Lucius or any other member of his circle was slaughtered. But it was also understandable.

"I do," Voldemort responded without hesitation or remorse. "He was a weakness, someone holding you back, just as your mother and father, and Lucius Malfoy. Dare I say that Greengrass, Severus, and the youngest Malfoy are also on your list? And let's not forget dear Bella. All of them are unnecessary distractions for you."

He understood, perhaps too well, what the Dark Lord was trying to point out. Izar had attachments, some of them he wasn't proud of and some of them he formed consciously. "I wouldn't think you would understand my loss," Izar murmured icily. "You don't care about anything or anyone."

Voldemort swiped at his bangs, peering at Izar spitefully. "Quite the contrary, child. I care about many things, such as winning and excelling at everything I do. And, regrettably, I find myself caring for _you_."

Silence met his statement as Izar struggled to form the appropriate reaction or response to such a confession. Voldemort looked down his nose at Izar before he spun his heel and continued on his way to their chambers. Izar stood stiffly, registering the man's words critically. There would always be a small doubt that Voldemort wasn't sincere in his high regard of Izar. However, after everything he and Voldemort had been through, that doubt was just a sliver of what it used to be.

"You're right," Izar conceded behind the man. "Sirius was… someone I grew attached to. But I realized that I could have never held onto both him and the Dark." He paused, walking slowly behind the Dark Lord. "Lucius is a trustworthy follower. Surely you—"

"I do not," Voldemort cut him off sharply. "How long will it take you to realize that those surrounding me are mere marionettes? _Our _marionettes? He will die before you as will your father and classmates. You are the superior being. We _use _them as amusement; they are pieces that keep the game in motion. And they are also replaceable… disposable." Voldemort flung the door open to his chambers, lighting the fireplace with a simple wave of his wrist.

Izar stalked the man, taking his elbow and turning him around forcibly. "I know that, I _know_. But this is our first phase, our first _round_, if you prefer, of immortality. Understand that I will have sentimental attachments to the ones I grew up with."

"I never said I did not understand, Izar." Voldemort removed Izar's hand from his elbow. The Dark Lord continued to hold Izar's wrist between the two. "You asked _me _if I _cared _that Lucius would die. I know you have emotional attachments, weakness. You are not yet hardened or matured fully." The man paused thoughtfully. "And you may never be hardened. While you are much like me, there are countless of differences between you and me. You are far more empathetic."

Izar didn't like that the Dark Lord viewed him as empathetic. It was a characteristic that could be easily manipulated and played on by his enemies.

As if reading his thoughts, Voldemort smirked, dropping Izar's wrist. "You will improve at this once we relocate, you will no longer have your distractions surrounding you. A clean slate."

Izar watched as the man turned, pouring himself a drink at the wet bar before making his way over to the couch. Izar's sharp eyes observed the man as he caressed his ring lovingly, almost subconsciously. Izar immediately disapproved of Voldemort carrying around the ring that was meant to be a Horcrux. Just because they duplicated it did not mean Voldemort had the right idea of revealing it to prying eyes. The duplicated ring would need to be hidden and Voldemort would need to stop wearing his precious trinket.

"Does it hold sentimental value?" Izar questioned darkly from his position by the bar. He had already asked Voldemort why he chose the items he had as his 'Horcruxes'. The man had insisted he would tell Izar later about the ring, but perhaps, with the man's high mood tonight, he would indulge some information. "The ring," Izar expanded in response of Voldemort's raised eyebrow.

The Dark Lord glanced down at his ring, stroking it once more. "That, yes, among other things." There was a pregnant pause. "Have you ever heard of the Deathly Hallows, my child?"

Izar frowned as his mind raced. Vaguely, he remembered reading about the tale of the Deathly Hallows and the three brothers in his First Year at Hogwarts. Izar's eyes widened a fraction, viewing the ring in a new light. Yet… there was also a dark emotion brewing in his chest at the revelation. "Is that the Resurrection Stone?" he licked his lips, sneering. "Who do you see then? When you hold it to you so possessively, you must see someone."

Voldemort blinked at Izar before smiling wickedly. "Jealous?"

The Black heir schooled his features into that of a cold mask. "Of course not. I gathered as much when you told me you went to South America those many years ago and decided then that you wouldn't make a Horcrux. You must have loved someone and found it inconvenient to create a Horcrux if you couldn't feel emotions afterward."

Voldemort stared long and hard at Izar before he gave a sudden laugh. It was loud and unlike the Dark Lord. True amusement spread across the man's features as he cackled. "Loved? _Loved!" _Voldemort chuckled, lowering the volume of his laughter. He turned away from Izar and stared pensively into the fire for a long while. "No, there is no dead lover, only my mate standing before me. And I intend to keep it that way."

The hairs on the back of Izar's neck stood sharply at the man's dark murmur. It was more of a promise then a statement and Izar found himself unnerved. Pushing off from the wet bar, Izar walked quietly over to the Dark Lord.

"You mean…" Izar began gently, as if approaching a wild animal. "You keep the ring as a safety precaution?" He didn't want his suspicions to be confirmed. He didn't want the Dark Lord to be musing over the very prospect that Izar could not agree to. They disagreed on many things but _this _was something Izar would defy heatedly.

The Dark Lord stroked his ring once before setting his hand on the armrest. He sipped from the amber liquid, smiling darkly. "Yes."

Now that Izar thought about it, Voldemort had always worn the ring, but had just recently started touching it—caressing it. "You cannot return someone from the dead," Izar whispered fiercely. He knew that the ring couldn't return the spirit back from the dead, or even an embodied person. The Stone was nothing but a manifestation—something to taunt and drive the one who possessed it into madness. And Izar was well aware that Voldemort knew this. The thing was, Voldemort could be frighteningly intelligent when he put his mind to it. The Dark Lord wouldn't use the ring for its intended purpose, he would find ways to resurrect while _using _the ring as means to get it.

"You cannot return _me," _Izar corrected. "Those who return from the dead are never the same. They will never forget the sensation of being ripped from the afterlife and thrust back into the cruel hell that we call life. If you died, Tom, and you wanted me to use the ring or other means to resurrect you, then I would. But you must respect my own decision and leave me to rest."

Voldemort lifted his lip, revealing startling white teeth as he flashed Izar a ruthless grin. "You have no say in this."

Izar threw one glower in the man's direction before gliding out of the foyer and into his _own _bedroom. As he walked across the plush carpet, he stripped nude, continuing on to the bathroom. He went through the motions of turning the water hot and scrubbing his body and hair. He smelt like Sirius, death, blood… and it made him ill. Along with the conversation and realization he just had with Voldemort, things were pressing on Izar, making him feel nothing but exhaustion.

It was better not to argue with Voldemort when the man was in his arrogant and stubborn mood. The longer Izar argued with the Dark Lord, the more the man would become unbearable and narrow-minded. Nothing would get past the man's thick and inflated head…

Izar leaned against the shower door, slamming his fist against the wall in agitation. Through wet and dripping hair, he eyed the Celtic ring on his finger. The Dark Lord went to such _lengths _to keep Izar around. Was fear running the man's actions? Could Voldemort not possibly function without Izar? Was it a side-effect of being mates? Or was it the man's isolation that narrowed his vision?

It saddened him that Voldemort thought he had to be controlling in order to keep Izar with him. As a boy, Tom Riddle had always been alone. He never formed any relationships, he never felt comfortable with _people_. Now that Izar was his first exception, his first companion, Voldemort was insecure and possessive of the relationship. It wasn't surprising that he had the mind frame of holding Izar too close with a suffocating embrace.

Lifting his head, Izar scrunched his face up into the pour of water. A part of him believed he was created just for Voldemort. How else could he find pleasure and excitement with a domineering Dark Lord? He smiled into the water before shutting it off. He was too much like Voldemort to take offense to what the man did. And he was definitely collected enough not to give Voldemort the silent treatment. He was just _tired. _

Stepping out of the humid shower, Izar dried himself with the towel before grabbing the black robe folded neatly on the vanity. Staring into his reflection, he grinned at it bitterly, dryly amused that he looked flawless despite the hell he had gone through. Immortality brought with it many benefits, but also an overwhelming darkness— frighteningly similar to Izar and Voldemort's relationship.

He exited the bathroom, stopping short when he eyed the man on his bed. Voldemort sat at the edge of the mattress, caressing a black pawn on a chess board. "Come play," Voldemort summoned, barely sparing Izar a glance. "I'll even allow you to go first. And we both know, he who makes the first move wins." Spider-like fingers spun the board around so the white players were inviting Izar forward.

Izar's first instinct was to inform the man he just wanted to go to _sleep_. But he swallowed his response, knowing this was Voldemort's way of compensating. "You just say that for insurance reasons," Izar replied defiantly. "If you lose, you have a reliable excuse."

Voldemort only smiled thinly in return.

The Black heir made his way on the bed, curling his legs underneath him as he assessed the chess board. "This is the first time I've played chess with you," Izar murmured as he considered his pawns. "Why do I have the feeling that you're going to destroy me?"

Red eyes lifted from the board and considered Izar closely. "Have you _ever _played chess, child?"

Izar's lips thinned. "I've read about it. I've just never played it before," he admitted meekly. There had never been anyone to play it with.

"Then I must applaud your courage for playing," Voldemort chuckled lowly. "I will guide you." The Dark Lord shifted on the mattress, turning his torso around so it faced the board and Izar fully. Even though the man was situated in a lazy position, he somehow managed to pull off the image of power and authority. "One must always have a purpose when playing. Many people study the game of chess for hours on end in order to improve their game. However, _true _mastery only comes when one has to actually face various crises on the game board."

They both knew that it was not just chess Voldemort was speaking of. Chess was a highly analytical game, mimicking life and battle strategies with mirror-like resemblance. Because of this, Izar sat forward, paying special attention to the Dark Lord. It wasn't every day that the Dark Lord felt patient enough to instruct Izar. The man usually did it through tests, games. Never face to face instruction.

"The efficiency of a move is more relevant and obvious when analyzed in retrospection." Voldemort waved his hand over the board and the pieces moved at his will. His black queen stood directly across from Izar's white king. "Poor tactics will land you in highly amusing, albeit awkward positions. Like here."

Izar stared at the man's queen. The only thing stopping Voldemort's queen from taking Izar's king was a single black pawn. Voldemort's own pawn.

"Foolish," Voldemort tsked. "Your lack of retrospection and tactic led you in the position where your own players are blocking your checkmate. It is better to sacrifice the pawn." The man gazed levelly at Izar, a hard line to his mouth. "But you are far too intelligent to make that mistake."

Izar sneered at the man, knowing all too well the man was comparing this scenario to sentimental attachments. How they would stop Izar from his intended goal, divert him from the 'checkmate'. "Amusing," Izar muttered. "Very creative."

"Of course, you should only sacrifice a player until you know exactly what you will gain in return." Voldemort waved his hand, returning the pieces back in their original positions. "What do you think is the main reason to sacrifice a player?"

Izar considered the question. "The _main _reason to sacrifice players would be to trap your opponent's player of greater value and eliminate it from the board," Izar replied, furrowing his brows at the board. "Though… I would also believe it would be beneficial to force your opponent in a tight corner in order to restrict their movement. In which case, you wouldn't need to sacrifice any of your own players, yet it would limit your opponent's power."

"Very good," Voldemort praised deeply. "However, I prefer the former tactic. An opponent could always reverse his trap and strike back just as hard. It is better to summon them off the board. They cannot influence your game if they are not _in _it."

It was rather ironic that Voldemort would view it in that light. In real life, Voldemort never gave his enemy that much credit. The Dark Lord underestimated his enemies, he was arrogant. If he ever backed someone into a corner to restrict their movement, he could and would not believe they could get themselves out of it—let alone strike just as viciously. Izar was tempted to point that out, but thought the atmosphere was finally at a balanced level. He did not want to disturb this unaccustomed peace.

"You must be wary of a tactic I know you might fall for," Voldemort continued. "Some players build their tactic on the mistake of their opponent. Nevertheless, waiting as long as that is not a clever move. Indubitably, you may speculate and use any breach in the other's defenses to your advantage, but to actually rely on that fully for building your chess tactics, is definitely wrong. Dumbledore was a prime example of that during the raid."

Izar's eyes shot up, locking with the Dark Lord. "Meaning?"

Voldemort grinned. "He was relying on your weaknesses in your duel. Having the prior knowledge that you are a vampire, Dumbledore underestimated you. Vampires are known to be uncontrollable, barren. Dumbledore was waiting for your lapse of control in order to kill you. It did not come and he paid greatly for such a strategy."

Izar bowed his head, fingering his chess pieces. The man's words rang true with a startling clarity. Izar did not win that duel because he was on par with a Light Lord, but because Dumbledore had underestimated him.

"You did well," Voldemort conceded as he picked up on Izar's thoughts. "Though, I find it difficult to grasp why you believe you must match my power."

Green eyes flashed as he glanced up, staring directly at the man. "I would like to defend myself without your constant protection. Of course I believe that I should be just as powerful as you." It was a sour topic, simply because Izar knew he would _never _be as powerful as Voldemort. It irritated him; it made him feel weak—useless.

The Dark Lord leaned forward, mindful of the chess board between them. His fingers curled around the collar of Izar's robe, playing with it lazily. Placing his face close to Izar, he smirked. "That is an extremely childish sentimentality. Can you not accept that we bring different strengths together, child? We are unstoppable together," Voldemort breathed lustfully into Izar's ear. "Your prodigy mind is something I can never obtain. My power is something you cannot."

Izar pulled away, thrusting the board closer to the Dark Lord. Remaining away from Voldemort, Izar moved his pawn forward.

He hated when the Dark Lord was correct. While Izar's power was indeed above average, it would never reach Voldemort's level. Perhaps with time and practice, Izar would be skilled enough in dueling and the theory of magic to best the Dark Lord in a duel out of skill rather than power. It was possible, but Izar first had to accept that he could not mimic the Dark Lord's show of power. He had other talents that the Dark Lord did not and he would need to embrace those if he wanted to step above Voldemort.

Izar raised his eyes from the board, smirking at the Dark Lord in promise. In return, Voldemort smiled down at his chess pieces, moving his pawn to meet Izar's.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, Izar considered his board and Voldemort's words regarding Dumbledore. Eyes widening a fraction, Izar placed his chin on his drawn knees, staring at the chess players in a daze. "You know… Dumbledore's tactic _did _work out in his advantage, doubtless of your views."

"Oh?" Voldemort inquired, tilting his head in such a way that showed Izar he was listening. "And how is that?"

Izar smiled bitterly. Pinching a pawn between his thumb and middle finger, he clicked it against Voldemort's pawn, taking it captive and moving it to the side of the board. "He knows I'm not a vampire."

**{Death of Today}**

They were arguing behind him.

Izar bit his bottom lip, trying to ignore the Death Eaters as he gazed almost lovingly at Hogwarts' wards. The castle, even from a distance, gave an eternal glow of comfort and welcome. Only, from his side of the board, he knew it was a large obstacle standing in his way. And it was also Voldemort's goal location for his final stand.

It was over an hour and they still had yet to circle the entire perimeter of the castle _or _find the weak spot in the wards. Usually, when each Headmaster took his position at the school, he would reinforce the wards with his own power. Doing so would, indeed, strengthen the wards, but it would also cause another layer to overlap with the previous wards. Over decades, centuries, the wards would begin forming a knot where the multiple of wards met and overlapped.

Considering Hogwarts was such a powerful structure, and the wards ancient, the knot Izar was looking to unravel would be minimal and difficult to spy. It would be far easier if he could distinguish between the anti-Apparation wards and the protective wards. If he could accomplish that much, he could just strip Hogwarts of that particular ward and the Death Eaters could Apparate inside. However, it wasn't that easy. Not only was Hogwarts so overlapped with _several _categories of wards, but there were _several _anti-Apparation wards threaded through the thick protective barrier—mending and merging as one.

Tapping his bottom lip, Izar slowly moved to the right. If he could not find the knot, there was a possibility someone from the _inside _could crumble the wards more easily. Though, Izar couldn't think of anyone trustworthy or powerful enough to accomplish that. Severus Snape wasn't allowed to leave the base and Draco and Daphne just weren't skilled enough to accomplish that feat.

"How much longer?" someone pestered from behind Izar. "We've been here all night."

"An hour. We've been here an hour," Bellatrix responded icily. "You have nothing better to do with your time, Carrow."

Izar ignored them, peering at the swirling gold wards. They really were beautiful. It was a half-shaped dome blanketing the castle and the grounds around it. Izar was careful not to touch it and he made the others stand a good few feet away. The wards were undoubtedly a gold color, and yet, there were ruby and emerald dust-like particles floating in the gold river, blinking brightly before dimming.

He pursed his lips, stalking the perimeter another few feet. His wand nearly touched the wards as it floated gracefully above, teasing and testing the magic thrumming so delectably. Izar raised his eyes to the very top of the wards, narrowing his gaze. There was a possibility of the knot settling at the very top of the wards, but he had superior sight, and it was nothing but a smooth blanket.

The knot had to be _somewhere. _If he couldn't find it, he would have to strip the wards one layer at a time. And _that _would take hours, perhaps days.

For the next hour, Izar circled the perimeter, ignoring the grumbling coming from the Death Eaters at his back. There were only a handful accompanying him and there were also more Second Tier wizards than First. Of course they would be impatient. They couldn't see what Izar did and they felt as if they could be doing something more _productive _then watching Izar's back. The Black heir tiptoed around the curve of the ward, suddenly catching sight of a rough patch at the bottom of the dome.

Quickly, he crouched, though, he did so nonchalantly. He didn't want to call attention to the Death Eaters. While he knew most of them supported the Dark Lord and his cause, no one could be completely trustworthy. It was better if Izar kept the location of the knot a secret. Surprisingly, the knot was located near the gates of Hogwarts, not by the Forbidden Forest as Izar originally had hoped. The fist-sized knot had lightening-like veins crawling through the gold aura. Shocks and pulses entwined together, creating a spectacular sight in Izar's eyes.

He made a mental note of the knot's location before he stood up and continued examining the wards as if he hadn't found it. Yet, his fingers itched in longing at the prospect of trying to unwind the knot. He knew he couldn't touch it now or Dumbledore would be alerted to the Death Eater's plan.

It was another thirty minutes before Izar was interrupted.

"What does it look like?" Barty Crouch Jr. questioned from over Izar's shoulder. "What do the wards appear like?"

Izar removed his eyes from the wards, eyeing the hovering man through lowered lids. It was the same question Draco had asked a year ago at Appleton's house. The blond had been disappointed with the lack of _fireworks _auras tended to appear like. The young Malfoy couldn't imagine magic being soothing, peaceful—or beautiful. He wanted it to be full of bright flashes and vivid shapes. Would Barty be the same?

The Black heir scoffed, slowly reaching out his wand and moving it toward Barty's head. The dark chocolate eyes watched his progress but didn't do anything to stop it besides widening his smirk. The man just stood quietly, a sharp contrast to his bickering comrades at his back.

Pressing his wand to Barty's temple, Izar murmured the incantation that would allow Barty to see what he did. Izar gazed at the wards, all the while keeping his wand pressed to the man's temple. Beside him, Barty breathed deeply, issuing an interested murmur in his throat. "It's exactly what I thought," the man exclaimed with a hint of awe. "_Stunning_."

Izar smiled thinly. It made sense that Crouch Jr. would have an appreciation for magic whereas Draco did not. While Barty Crouch Jr. was a younger man, he had maturity and wisdom in places Draco lacked. Despite their mutual dislike for each other, Izar's reverence for the man was heightening the more he got to know him. He didn't like to admit it, but there were strong similarities between the two of them. Including their family life and the way they attached themselves to Voldemort. Barty viewed Voldemort as a type of reverend father figure while Izar… well…

Just as Izar was about to remove his wand from the man's temple, Barty's fingers reached out and held his wrist in place. "What does my aura look like?"

Withholding a sigh of irritation, Izar reluctantly turned his eyes on Barty's figure. "It changes," Izar felt inclined to put in. "Whenever your mood changes, the speed of the aura and the color sometimes adapts to your emotions. Right now you're calm, perhaps a bit intrigued, and in turn, your aura is serene."

And indeed it was. Crouch's aura was a shade rather than a color. The dust-like particles were sharp mercury as they circled Barty in lazy waves. Nonetheless, the aura sparked suddenly in Izar's eyes, a direct link to Barty's surprise and admiration.

"_Amazing_," the man murmured. "When you look at the Dark Lord—"

Izar's hold on his wand slipped as an attack came abruptly from behind him. He grunted as he landed on the ground, his wand laying a few feet away. The spell he was hit with must have been a Dark hex, for his bones couldn't support his body. When he tried moving, he had flopped back down, as shapeless as a flobberworm.

"Get Black! _Black! _The others are of no importance!" a familiar voice barked the order. Who else could have a one-track mind like that?

Izar grinned foolishly as he watched the Death Eaters scramble to reach him. They were amusing. Their eyes were wide, their hands splayed in hope of summoning his body to them. The only thing on their mind was the Dark Lord's wrath.

Bellatrix gave a battle cry, snapping her wand out and throwing the Killing Curse at Izar. The green curse flew with perfect accuracy and brushed Izar's hair before continuing to the man advancing behind him. Before it hit its mark, hands grabbed him and tugged his body in a Side-Along Apparation.

Izar was forced to accompany them, laughing all the while. What did Rufus have in mind for him?


	61. Part II Chapter 29

**Warnings**: Torture. Not overly heavy, but torture nonetheless. Grammar mistakes as well.

**Notes**: I apologize for taking so long to update. Life has been a bit hectic. But it has slowed down considerably. There aren't many chapters left (or so I hope), but I doubt I can finish in time for my next semester to begin. Anyway, thank you all _very much _for your patience and your continued support.

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

Izar lay rigidly against the steel table. The black bag over his head was meant to intimidate him, to frighten him. It only served to irritate him. He was alone in the heavily secured room. Through the black cloth, he was aware of the single bright light shining down on him. Metal cuffs kept his arms out to the side and his hands in place. The same went for his ankles. To make matters even better, he was stripped down to his boxers.

He would be an idiot if he couldn't foresee what was about to transpire. The Ministry was always clean to the public, completely hands off when it came to the prisoners it kept. But Izar knew that when the public wasn't involved, the Ministry got its questions one way or the other. If it was through torture, so be it.

Izar closed his eyes beneath the black bag, calculating his next step. He could escape. He could tear apart the metal around his wrists with his creature strength and drain the magic from the guards outside his door. The only problem with that plan, however, was the fact that he was _heavily _guarded. He could hear their steps outside the room; he could feel the strong magic humming around the closed door; and he could smell the many bodies. Realistically, if he was to escape, he could probably drain four men before he was attacked by the others surrounding him. After all, he _was_ wandless.

At any rate, he wanted to keep his status of a creature as quiet as possible. Already having Dumbledore, Regulus, and Severus know was _enough_. If the Ministry knew, Izar would have more on his hands than he could handle.

No, he couldn't escape the torture. He had a high pain tolerance as a human and he had an even higher pain tolerance as a creature. The only problem was that he _was _fast healing. If this torture was executed in order to get answers out of him, it was intended to be painful and bloody. If he healed drastically, the one enforcing the pain would surely notice their work disappearing.

Breathing out of habit more than necessity, Izar calmed himself and his mind. He was smart. He had to _think_.

Cooperating was out of the question. Not only would they not believe him, but Rufus would identify it as a slip of character. Izar was known to be stubborn, clever… it wouldn't be in his character to blurt out answers as if he were afraid of pain.

Pursing his lips, his mind brought him back to that day at the Ministry when Cygnus had possessed him. The man had attacked Voldemort and cut off the Dark Lord's magical core. What Cygnus hadn't known at the time, was that Voldemort was a creature, thus, having two cores. If Cygnus had squeezed Voldemort's creature core and his Wizarding core at the same time, the Dark Lord would have died.

Izar could only assume that the same would be applied to himself. However, if he pinched his creature core to the point of _almost_ nonexistence, he was sure he could survive as long as he did not close it completely. It would be a struggle to remain focused on his own core and the interrogation at the same time, but it was the only option he had. By suffocating his creature, he would lose many characteristics of it, such as his eyesight, his smell, his _healing_.

A risk, but a needed risk.

If he struggled through this _session_, they would likely throw him behind bars and leave him to bask in his pain. They would loosen their security around him and he could escape at that time. He just hoped Voldemort would _heel _long enough for Izar to make his escape. It would be unwise for the Dark Lord to attack the Ministry for many reasons. Surely the man wouldn't allow Izar's capture to activate his immense possessiveness. This kidnapping was not only to get answers from Izar, but it was a direct challenge from Rufus to the Dark Lord.

"Remarkable," a voice mused from the opening door. "All the others we captured were killed through the Dark Mark. As always, it seems as if you are an exception, Mr. Black."

Izar clenched his teeth together, making an audible _cracking _sound. "Of course, Rufus, why would it be any other way? Strangely enough, everyone finds me irresistible." He turned his head away from the two humans who entered the room. He could hear their heartbeats, their uneven footsteps… "Though, to be fair, it burns like hell."

And it did.

For a long while, the Dark Mark had remained impassive, only a heavy weight on his forearm as he waited for Voldemort to be informed of his… inconvenient absence. For what had seemed like forever, Izar's Dark Mark had suddenly flared, mirroring the unstable temper of the Dark Lord. The man was a damned drama queen. Izar's only regret was that he wasn't there to witness the undoubtedly creative punishment for the man's followers. Otherwise, he didn't mind his position in the slightest. Perhaps, though, that would change shortly.

Someone reached forward and ripped off the cloth-bag from his head. Izar calmly turned his head around, staring at the man before him. The wizard who leered before him was not Rufus, but a greying blond. Izar couldn't pinpoint the wizard's identity, but he took special care to remember the face. There were a few wrinkles at the corners of his eyelids and lips while the eyes that gazed down at Izar were a pale blue.

"A pretty boy," the man scoffed in exasperation. "I didn't expect one so young."

Izar leaned his head further against the table, squinting his eyes against the harsh light. "Judging from the air of narcissism around you and the muscles you see fit to reveal, I would wager that you're my tormentor. It's a pleasure, surely." Izar flattened his plump bottom lip and turned to the shadowy figure in the background. "Can you not even collect the courage to torture me yourself, Rufus? My, you've been disappointing—"

A backhand snapped Izar's head to the side, silencing him instantly. The burn was sharp and he closed his eyes for a moment, reaching inward toward his magical core. Because he spent a good few hours looking for his magic-sensitivity after he turned immortal, finding his cores were no trouble.

The hand descended again, but before it made contact, Izar had already successfully pinched his creature-core to the point of near extinction. Izar grunted as his cheekbone bounced off the steel table as the second punch turned his vision black just briefly. With his loss of the creature, Izar felt strangely naked—exposed. The confidence he usually felt seemed to drain considerably, but he grabbed hold of himself and tried to push away the ugly sensations. He didn't want to rely on his creature, not when he lived sixteen years without it. Who knew he had depended on it so much when he usually wasn't even conscious of it. There were times when Izar had to remind himself that he was no longer human. But now that his creature was smothered, he definitely felt a significant loss.

"I was told you had cheek. Others may think it's cute, I think it's uncouth."

Izar took a moment to gather himself and his usual arrogance. He struggled to breathe, not understanding the sudden need to inhale oxygen. Surely, just because he smothered his creature, didn't mean he had to take in oxygen to breathe? His lips thinned as he calmed himself. He found out a second later that, no, he didn't need oxygen. The sudden urge for oxygen came from his anxiety at having his immortality powered down to precarious levels. He needed to calm if he didn't want a panic attack on the table.

It was a challenge to try to keep up his glamours, remain from pinching his creature-core completely, and keeping face. He had been through much worse than this. If he couldn't succeed in this trial, then he didn't deserve his position in this war.

"Uncouth?" Izar inquired dryly, a smile slowly beginning to stretch across his lips. "Not only do you appear incredibly dim, but you're also a hypocrite."

The greying man brought down his elbow. "_Stop_," Rufus Scrimgeour ordered sharply, successfully stopping the elbow inches from Izar's nose. "You will do well to remember who is in charge and what your job is. Do not fall into the boy's manipulation. He is only goading you."

Izar gave a lop-sided grin toward the man, taunting him with his eyes. The man was nothing but a _dog_ obeying his master. There was an inner struggle in the tormentor's expression, one that Izar was familiar with. It was what many men and women faced when they found themselves in position under a more powerful order. They believed they had better judgment than their superiors, better knowledge, but they were forced to follow commands nonetheless. Izar also noticed Rufus was doing an excellent job avoiding addressing the man by a name.

Rufus moved forward and Izar could pick up the limp in his step. The overhead light cast deep shadows across the Minister's face as he peered down at his prisoner. Izar gazed back unblinkingly, a frown tugging at his lips. Rufus appeared the same. His stringy, curly hair was a bit more greasy than usual and his eyebrows were brooding heavily over tired but fierce eyes.

A strong and weathered hand reached forward and placed itself over Izar's brows. "I've finally got you," the man announced hoarsely. "It was a mistake to let you go those many nights ago."

Izar huffed through his nose, remembering the night of the Unspeakable attack vividly. At first it had surprised Izar to learn that Rufus and Dumbledore had worked together. But when he came to terms with it, he knew the two most likely had different plans for Izar in the end. Dumbledore had wanted to place Izar inside the Unspeakable invention while Rufus wanted to make Izar suffer and watch as his comrades' magic were eaten alive. In turn, Izar would have nowhere to turn but with the Ministry. Pity it didn't turn out the way Rufus Scrimgeour had envisioned it. Izar would give the man credit for working slyly behind the scenes, but in the end, both Izar and Lord Voldemort would always overcome their obstacles.

"Hmm, it's never a good idea to think you can tame a restless body," Izar murmured smugly. "Though, your scheme was _very_ Slytherin. Using Conner Oran as your puppet was almost heartless. Did you see his face when you tried to pass the invention as my doing? If I hadn't stopped the invention from activating, I can confidently say that the Death Eaters _would _have blamed me and it is possible that I would have stayed with the Ministry."

Rufus' fingers tightened over Izar's forehead as the man leaned forward. "You would have been great," the Minister breathed passionately. Yellow eyes caught Izar's, holding them captive just as dominantly as his bindings. "You let that egoistic fool manipulate you. He is only suffocating you and your potential."

"Sir…" Izar whispered, intentionally making the Minister lean in further. Steadily locking eyes with the man, Izar said in all seriousness, "You're making me blush."

Rufus released his head abruptly, his expression darkening into one of irritable rage. Izar tipped back his head and laughed loudly. He couldn't help it. The man was far too easy to get riled up and mock. Hell, he didn't know if he had this much fun tormenting the Death Eaters as he did a single Minister.

Before Scrimgeour could continue, there was a sharp rap at the door. A head popped in uninvited and looked between a smirking Izar and a furious Scrimgeour. "Excuse my interruption, Minister, but would you like me to owl Dumbledore? He expressed the need to be contacted immediately if we were ever to obtain Black—"

"That will not be necessary," Rufus barked. The Minister wasted no time in waving his wand sharply toward the door and slamming it on the face of the onlooker.

Izar's smirk died down, yet he remained watching the Minister closely. It would seem as if Dumbledore and Scrimgeour were struggling to cooperate together. It was likely that Scrimgeour was possessive of his Ministry and didn't want a Light Lord to run his territory or have a hand in his actions. It was a typical issue seen between two powerful males, especially when they both held a position of power. Though, what Izar found most interesting is Dumbledore's request.

The old fool wanted to be notified if Izar was ever imprisoned? Obviously, Rufus would have none of it and wouldn't be owling Dumbledore anytime soon. Clearly, the old Headmaster hadn't told Scrimgeour about Izar's immortality. If he had, Izar would likely be in a completely different situation than he was at the current moment. But then what purpose would Dumbledore serve for knowing Izar was captured? And when did the old man request such a bold demand?

Nonetheless, this was information Izar would have to fold and put away for later. If Rufus Scrimgeour and Albus Dumbledore were not working and communicating properly, it could be used against them.

"Truth Serum will not be used during our session, I'm afraid," Rufus began once again. This time, he was settling in the back of the room, cloaking himself in the shadows. "It is easily manipulated by powerful Occlumens and I will not waste my time on it with you. Luckily, we have an alternative method to get answers out of you."

Izar rolled his neck, staring at the ceiling and past the light. "If you wanted answers, Rufus, I wouldn't mind sitting down with you over a freshly brewed pot of tea." Izar threw the enforcer a glance, noting the man's crimson face. It would see as if Izar was angering the stranger more than his intended prey.

"Your charm will not help you today, Mr. Black, no matter how tempting the idea may sound," Rufus drawled, setting down two objects nearby. "This is a revised version of a Sneakoscope and a Secrecy Sensor. I'm sure you are aware of what they do when they detect deceit or lies. I'm trying to keep this as simple as possible. Your sharp mind may not be so clear within the next few hours. I plan to take full advantage over that." With that, Scrimgeour gave a sharp nod toward the enforcer.

Izar tensed as the brute man came closer. The Black heir was familiar with towering height from Voldemort, but the Dark Lord was just as thin as he was tall. The greying man across from Izar was all muscle and girth.

"Let's start off easy, shall we? What is your name?"

The Black heir closed his eyes in order to block the sight of the hovering enforcer. It was a cruel game—what Rufus was playing. If Rufus was as smart as Izar, he would lead Izar to believe the answers would be explanations. Izar would then start answering them, perhaps mockingly, but then the answers would turn to yes and no answers. If Izar remained silent after answering the previous questions, Rufus would take the silence as answer. And he couldn't lie, due to the Sneakoscope and Secrecy Sensor placed so close. With his concentration on holding up his glamours and pinching his creature-core, he could not successfully drain the Dark Detectors of their magic.

Izar wouldn't fall into the trap. He slowly opened his eyes. "You won't even get my name out of me, Rufus dear."

It was the enforcer who answered. "I was hoping you would say that."

The wand of the enforcer touched Izar's skin and the younger wizard's eyes rolled backwards in pain.

**{Death of Today}**

James ducked out of the room, searching out Lily. It didn't take long to see a painfully thin figure leaning against the wall, arms crossed across her stomach protectively. It was dark in the Longbottom household, yet the sliver of the moon washed Lily's porcelain skin in bright shadows. The petite witch didn't turn at his approach. Instead, she continued to gaze outside, her expression dark and clouded.

For a long moment, James stood in silence, assessing his long love. At times he found it almost unbearable watching as she slowly deteriorated throughout the years. This wasn't the same woman he fell in love with. But then again, they had all grown up from their days at Hogwarts. James found it his duty to continue to stand by Lily, no matter the nauseating mistakes she committed in the past. He could see the regret in her, the suffering. She tried to hide it well, but James knew. He knew she had depression and there were days he thought she had a multi-personality disorder. She was cold. Almost lifeless at times. Her caresses seemed almost false to him and it pained him with each passing day.

"They're talking about him," Lily whispered hoarsely. "Izar."

James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Not only did he suffer from Lily's deteriorating health, but also the confusion the war brought him. His loyalty would always be with the Light, there was no doubt about that. However, with Lily having a son on the other side of the battlefield, it made things complicated. Especially when Lily continued to express concern for his well-being. It took James a long while to swallow his disgust and anger over Lily having an affair with Regulus Black and producing a child. His jealousy later cooled into horror at what Lily had done to Sirius' brother and her own son.

When he eventually accepted it, James found himself standing behind Lily as a solid pillar.

"Yes," James admitted. The Order was settled in the large gathering room behind closed doors. Lily had been asked to excuse herself and James had even felt the eyes on him as he stubbornly stayed behind to listen to Dumbledore. "It's rumored that he has been captured by the Ministry."

Lily narrowed her eyes against the window's reflection before they relaxed into an impassive and tired stare. "If what the rumors say are true, and that Izar is Riddle's right-hand man, then I'm certain he will find a way out of the Ministry within the week." Her spidery hands tightened around her stomach. "I find it amusing that I am seen as an enemy here, among my friends, my comrades. They treat me as if I wear the brand of the Dark Lord. To kick me out…after _everything _that I have done and sacrificed for the Light…"

James took a step forward, reaching for her, but his hand fell back to his side. "It is only to protect you. When we discuss Izar, I agree, it's best if you were not present."

She exhaled softly past her parted lips. "He's my child."

It was said so dully, so lifelessly, James wondered if Lily would ever feel passion again. He wondered if the potions she was ingesting for her depression were even aiding her in her suffering. How could they when she was but a corpse of her old self? And yet, there were times when she was lively and warm… but those flashes came and went too quick for James to really appreciate. "He's also the enemy. A very strong enemy."

Emerald eyes turned to look at him through lank red hair. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to.

"Izar is powerful, Lily. He has the Dark Lord's favor… he will prevail."

Was it wrong for him to put so much faith in the enemy's well-being? James would admit to anyone that Izar Black was a rarity. He was a genius, yet he was still a child. He was Dark, yet he possessed a staggering amount of loyalty and mercy. He had been raised in an orphanage, yet he took the protection of his family seriously. The boy had good ideals, but he had a Dark Lord breathing down his neck. James saw a tragedy when he looked at Lily's son.

He reached toward her, slowly curling his arm around her back. She came in his arms almost immediately, placing her cheek against his chest and looking up at him. "You would tell me if Albus came up with a plan to destroy Izar, wouldn't you? Why else would they make me leave the room?"

James barely contained a flinch at the direct question. His mind brought him back to their meeting, their plans for Izar… what Dumbledore planned. Should he warn Lily? No. Not only would it alert the Order to James' disloyalty, but it would place Lily in danger.

He stared down at her, feeling the hair rise on the nape of his neck. Her emerald eyes were watching him closely, seeing right through him. Lily was an incredibly powerful witch and she was smart. It wouldn't surprise James if Lily had her own ways of finding out what went on in the Order's meeting. And quite frankly, he didn't want to know the lengths she would go to protect her son. Because, if he knew those lengths, he might just have to accept the fact that Lily would discard his own safety just for a son she would always regret conceiving out of blackmail.

Instead of answering the question directly, James closed his eyes and placed his face in the crimson hair. "I think you know the answer to that, Lily."

Thin arms wrapped around his torso in return.

**{Death of Today}**

"Simon."

Simon looked up at his partner. The Auror next to him then motioned toward the two figures sauntering down the corridor. Both of them were dressed richly in crisp black robes and cloaks which fell past their heels. One figure was significantly taller than his companion and wore a black fedora that cast most his face in shadows. The other had his dark hair slicked back, revealing familiar, yet unidentified features.

"Good evening, gentlemen," the taller greeted silkily.

Simon stood at attention and he felt Phillip mimic his stance beside him. "I'm afraid you are not permitted to be down this corridor. Please, let me escort you back to the main—" Simon tapered off when the tall wizard adjusted his hat, revealing thin glasses and distinguished features. "Mr. Riddle!" he exclaimed suddenly, feeling his chest tighten in apprehension. There were whispers among the Department that Tom Marvolo Riddle had a hand in the war, yet there were other murmurs that praised the man standing before him.

The ex-Undersecretary cocked his head to the side in acknowledgement. "I'm afraid I must be curt with you tonight, Mr…"

"Westly, sir. Simon Westly," he introduced himself formally. He clasped his hands in front of his body, motioning his chin toward his companion. "And this is my partner, Phillip Morsal."

"Pleasure," Riddle smiled thinly.

Simon tried to control the shiver that tickled down his back. In the back of his mind, he strained to remember Tom Riddle speaking in the past. How could he forget that the man had a voice that could freeze the blood rushing hotly through his veins? There was a slight hissing quality to it, something that could be heard from a snake.

"Sadly, I must be rather frank with you. You see, this is Barty Crouch Jr., my lawyer." Riddle placed a leather-gloved hand on the other man's shoulder. "It is common knowledge that Izar Black is my political heir, therefore, Barty not only represents me, but also my ward. I think it would be _wise _if you allow your Minister to know we are here." The torches on the corridor wall caught and held the startling white teeth that flashed from Riddle's smile. "Before he does something he may regret."

It was an abundant amount of information for Simon to take in. He took in the appearance of the other wizard, realizing why the man looked slightly familiar. Bartemius Crouch was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—and a damned good one. It was he who made it possible for Aurors to kill the Death Eaters rather than take them captive. Simon respect Crouch and he could see the father mirroring in the eyes of his son.

But there was only a slight resemblance. Crouch Junior took after his mother considerably and there was a cruel iciness to his gaze. Simon had known Bartemius Crouch had a son and that he was in the law aspect of the Ministry, he just hadn't known the specifics. And there was also _talk _about Crouch Junior—not all of it was as positive as his father.

"Izar Black?" Phillip spoke before Simon could gather his thoughts. "I'm afraid you must be mistaken, sir. We do not have an Izar Black in custody."

At the sudden change of atmosphere, Simon brushed his forearm with his fingers where he kept his wand hidden in a holster. Riddle's jaw muscle clenched, yet the man remained silent. It was Bartemius' son that responded first.

"It is prudent that you understand the length of your statement," Crouch Junior whispered softly. The thin man took an advancing step forward, putting the two Aurors at the ready. "You claim you do not have a minor currently in your custody? The consequence of keeping a minor captive without representation is against the Wizarding laws." Suddenly, Crouch Junior leaned in even forward, widening his mouth into an unnerving smile. "The consequence of torturing said minor is an even greater felony that would destroy the Ministry if word ever got out to the press..."

It was difficult viewing Izar Black as a minor. Simon was well aware that the boy was young, but he was even more aware of the crimes he had committed. The majority of the Unspeakables following Minister Scrimgeour had been hunted down and killed ruthlessly by the _minor_. It was unforgivable and Simon found little pity for the boy currently in the interrogation room. Though, he reluctantly understood Crouch Junior's words. _If _the public ever got wind of this situation, chaos would break out. The Ministry was already on unstable legs in the eyes of the public and their nonstop questioning regarding Rufus Scrimgeour's leadership… And it was all due to the man currently standing in front of Simon.

Suddenly, a hair-rising scream echoed throughout the corridors. It was more of a laugh than anything else—a desperate and crazed laugh. Simon shifted uncomfortably. He knew exactly who issued that laugh. It was a running sport for the Aurors to intentionally forget the Silencing Charms around the interrogation room in order to bask in the prisoner's screams. It was little compensation for all their comrades who were killed by those son-of-a-bitches.

But it had been over half-an-hour since Black was taken in. And this was the first Simon heard out of him.

Simon's lips thinned as he avoided the sharp eyes of the two men. "I will go alert Minister Scrimgeour of your arrival."

As he turned his heel, he was unfortunate enough to catch the smug smirk settling across Riddle's lips. "Good boy," the man whispered. It seemed to be for Simon's ears only, for the mocking praise followed him down the dark corridor.

**{Death of Today}**

The third finger on his left hand was ripped backward, joining the other two limp fingers beside it. Izar trembled fiercely, biting his tongue but stubbornly remaining silent. His right hand was already a mangled mess, crooked from the sharp breaks and stained red from the dried blood that cascaded down from the torn and mutilated skin tissue. The enforcer seemed to favor cutting and probing. There was something oddly painful about cold metal coming in contact with revealed muscle and bloody flesh.

Luckily, Voldemort made good on his promise of creating a creature that mirrored humans. Izar bled normally. He cut easily. And he seemed to have the same nerve endings as before. If he wasn't currently cutting off his creature-core, Izar was sure he wouldn't be feeling as much as this torture as he was currently.

Being in this state felt surreal to him. He did not enjoy it, no, but strangely enough, he felt reassured that he _felt _and experienced pain again. He felt human once again. Only, he didn't have a heartbeat. He didn't need to breathe. And he would never die from something as mundane as human torture. If something were to happen first, it would be his slip of concentration. He would either close off his creature-core completely or he would lose his hold and heal incredibly fast—most likely dropping his glamours while he was in a bemused state.

"You were involved with the slaughter of Unspeakables, were you not?" Scrimgeour pressed hotly. "How did you release the Death Eaters from Conner Oran's invention? Did you and your mother implant a weakness?"

"My name, Rufus, what is my name?" Izar breathed out, laughing beneath his breath. "We haven't even gotten past the first question!"

Rufus had been growing agitated for the past hour, pacing and growling to himself at the end of the room. If Izar wasn't so preoccupied with the enforcer, he would have taken great pleasure of watching the strong-willed Minister slowly unravel with frustration. Izar hadn't answered any of the man's questions thus far, only opening his mouth to taunt the man into a blinding rage.

The enforcer remained silent as he pressed the tip of the blade to Izar's already bruised and bloody legs. With pronounced glee, the greying man pressed the edge into Izar's calf and sliced the skin apart agonizingly slow. Izar whimpered, squinting his eyes closed against the blinding light above him. So far, the cutting never hit close to the muscle. The cold blade would always just tease the muscles, making Izar grate his teeth from the sensation.

Though, both Minister and enforcer seemed to be at wits end, for the knife plunged into his calf muscle. Izar let out a shrill yelp, jerking his leg on reflex. Unfortunately, his action caused the blade to embed deeper in the muscle. Izar turned his head to the side, gagging instinctively. The enforcer continued to carve at the muscle, causing Izar an unexplainable agony.

"You think you can get past the interrogation by passing the time?" the enforcer breathed. "I have news for you, kid. This isn't just one session. This can go on for _weeks_. You'll eventually crack. I'll make _sure _you crack like the pussy-boy you look like."

Izar cracked his eyes open, watching as the enforcer leered above him. He had to hand it to the man. The enforcer knew what he was doing. He cut in a specific way that would cause a great deal of pain, yet cut down on the blood-loss. There was even a spell on Izar that would limit the amount of blood loss he experienced.

"I know just the type of torture you need," the man continued, pulling out the blade from Izar's leg and reaching forward. "You're an arrogant fuck. Prideful." A gloved-hand slid up and between his legs, clutching at Izar's inner thighs. "A little pounding will do you some good."

"There are many techniques to recycle before we come to that method," Rufus barked from the shadows. "We have only just begun."

Izar pressed his lips into a thin line at the invading hand and tried to move his legs. Not only did the cuff around his ankle tighten, but the wound from his calf seared hotly up his spine. Throwing his head back, Izar tried to calm himself. The last thing he needed was to lose control.

"Oh?" the enforcer snarled. "I've found his weakness. And you refuse to exploit it?"

"Yes," Rufus commanded forcibly, the topic obviously closed for discussion.

The Minister had the enforcer around the leash and Izar enjoyed it immensely. Men were so easily controlled when it came to power and ranking. The enforcer was nothing but the Minister's dog. Izar grinned tightly, meeting the enforcer's eyes with his own. "Heel, boy." He pursed his spit-covered lips and tsked mockingly.

The hand slapped him across the face, drawing blood from the nails digging across his cheek.

"This is only the beginning, eh?" the enforcer growled. "Then I look forward to it."

Suddenly, the blade impaled itself at the bottom of his foot and into his sole. Izar's eyes opened wide and he gave a scream of agony that steadily turned into a desperate laugh. The feet were known to have a number of sensors. It was no surprise the enforcer seemed to favor that part of his anatomy.

"You won't be walking out of here anytime soon." The bulk-like man withdrew the blade painfully slow. "Anymore smart-arse comments from you?" The tip of the blade tickled Izar's other foot that was already twitching from the calf muscle being brutally attacked. "Nothing?" the enforcer taunted as Izar shook fiercely on the interrogation table. "Pity."

As the blade neared the point of entering the sole of his foot, they were interrupted once again by the door. Rufus murmured something under his breath and Izar struggled to catch it. His senses were slowly dimming as he forced his mind to concentrate on his cores. His sight was dimming and his hearing dulled to that of an elderly human. Through half-closed eyes, he watched as Rufus answered the door and quietly conversed with the individual on the other side.

The laugh that issued from Scrimgeour was cold and amused. "Finally. I had expected him to arrive as soon as we brought him in." Rufus then turned to the enforcer. "We're finished for the night. Prepare him for our second session."

The last thing Izar was physically aware of before he dropped into a self-inflicted meditation was the blade slashing at his sole.

**{Death of Today}**

Surprisingly, or—not so surprisingly, Riddle was standing calmly with someone leaning against the wall next to him. Rufus had been informed that Riddle had brought along a lawyer, he was just surprised to note it was Barty Crouch's only son who also happened to be on Rufus' list of targeted Death Eaters. Many would consider the justice system to be unjust and unfair. Rufus found it a pain in the arse and worthless at times. It was a challenge to incriminate criminals he _knew _were Death Eaters but finding it impossible if he didn't have the evidence to support it.

Being on the right side of the law was more mind-challenging than the wrong side of the law. People like Riddle liked to claim themselves as brilliant and a skilled manipulator. But Rufus found that to be entirely untrue. The Light side always prevailed and they were also smarter than their enemies. How else could they fight within the laws and eliminate their opponents while said opponents could just slaughter without staying in the lines?

It was one of the reasons he respected Crouch so much. The man legalized Auror killing methods against Death Eaters. The Ministry now had more of an equal ground against their enemies.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Rufus asked in mock politeness. The Minister knew he had a spring to his step, but he did nothing to hide it as he approached the ex-Undersecretary and his minion. True, his interrogation seemed to have gotten nowhere, but in reality, Rufus had expected as such. Despite being so young, Izar Black was stubborn and strong-willed. A simple torture session would not crack the boy.

But he would eventually crack Izar. There was a part of Rufus that wanted to tear the boy apart and rebuild him into the perfect ally. Black had so much _potential _and intelligence. However, that part of him had been proved wrong during the Unspeakable attack. Dumbledore had wanted to kill the boy instantly while Rufus had wanted to turn the boy. His decision resulted in the Death Eaters escaping and a quarter of the Unspeakables slain.

It was Crouch Junior who spoke first. "I believe you have something of ours," the boy started, pushing himself from the wall. Dark eyes mirrored his fathers as they looked into Rufus. "A mere sixteen-year-old is being held captive without representation. Not only that, but if I'm correct in assuming, he's being interrogated by methods of torture."

The Minister smiled thinly, placing his hands in his pockets. "Izar Black is a war criminal." A pause. "There are plenty of eye-witnesses who can vouch for this."

"No matter, that still does not warrant torture or interrogation without representation. He is a minor."

Rufus cocked his head to the side, considering this. "Black may only be sixteen, but I'm confident that the court would see him as an emancipated minor. After all, wasn't it you, Riddle, who began the paperwork to grant Black emancipation? If I remember correctly, it was right before the custody battle between Lily Potter and Regulus Black that never took place." Rufus turned his attention on Riddle, noting the unusual silence.

His question was answered when he noticed Riddle staring coldly down the corridor and toward the greying enforcer. The enforcer, James Schrill, was peeling off his bloody gloves, taunting Riddle with smug eyes and an equally satisfied smile. Rufus withheld a sigh, knowing it was pointless to tell Schrill off. Arrogant men were always blind to the bigger prey. And at the moment, Riddle had his jaws wide open, ready to swallow Schrill whole.

Crouch Junior stepped forward. "Mr. Riddle never completed those papers. Black's emancipation is not legally recognized by the courts."

"Your persistence is admirable, Mr. Crouch, but unwarranted. Times have changed now that a war is at a climax. You see, Mr. Black is a special exception. A high-ranking individual in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement made it possible for us to retain Izar Black and get answers out of him as long as we do not kill. Age be damned. He's a dangerous criminal that will aid to our success."

Both father and son had a cruel and cold determination that seemed to make their bottomless eyes sparkle. "Oh? And who might that individual be?"

"Your father," Rufus said simply before turning his heel and coming to a stop directly in front of Riddle. "I'm afraid that Izar will be staying with me, Mr. Riddle. He is my prisoner. _Mine_. And I'll get what I want from him while taking away your crutch at the same time."

Riddle's eyes suddenly snapped away from Schrill and locked with Rufus'. There was an unnerving light that flickered beneath those innocent-looking brown eyes. "Is that a challenge, Minister?" the man whispered silkily.

Rufus could barely contain his grin. "A challenge for Tom Riddle or a challenge for Lord Voldemort?" he murmured in question. "Because, either way, yes, it is a direct and confident challenge. One you cannot hope to win."

Riddle chuckled lowly. "Your arrogance is admirable, Mr. Scrimgeour, but unwarranted." The man threw Rufus' earlier words to Crouch Junior back in his face. "I know what you're trying to accomplish with Izar. Out of pity, I will advise you not to waste your time. Just when you think you successfully twisted him into your new image, you'll find out, in the end, that _he _was the one doing the manipulating." The man's tongue clicked the back of his front teeth. "I all but raised him myself, Rufus. Don't be a fool."

There was something unsettling in those eyes and words, Rufus thought. He stood stiffly for a long moment, trying to collect himself. Finally settling for a grunt, Rufus turned on his heel. "You're welcome to press charges. And you're also welcome to pay a visit to your ward, just follow my men. In fact, I encourage you to visit your ward. Perhaps a visit from you will give him a second wind. I do enjoy Mr. Black's wit."

Before Rufus could disappear around the corner, Riddle's words found him.

"Do you forget that the Dark Lord can kill through the Dark Mark? If he does not obtain Black, do you think he will allow the boy to live? He does not share, Minister."

Rufus paused, once again, taken off-guard by the man's words. The words were something like a promise, yet there was a falsity to them. Voldemort would never willingly kill his crutch, Rufus knew this. Riddle… or rather, Voldemort's words were of no consequence. The Minister then narrowed his eyes and continued forward, never looking back.

**{Death of Today}**

"Black."

"_Black!" _

Izar slowly regained consciousness with the consistent call. He found himself suddenly aware of his wrists being tied above his head, causing his feet to dangle just barely above the freezing cold ground. It was a planned out position. The wounds on his feet would consistently rub against the ground and the wounds around his chest and torso would stretch painfully by his body being strung upward. Izar dangled uselessly, trying to lift his feet from the ground and curling them up toward his chest. His abdominal muscles screamed and it was only seconds until he had to drop his legs back down.

"Bloody… hell…" Izar hissed as the half-closed abrasions on his feet brushed the ground. His feet did a small jig as he tried to adjust them comfortably. But no matter how he angled his feet, there was always in discomfort.

"Black…" the voice called again from outside his cell.

And then Izar was painfully aware of how humiliating his current position was. He squinted toward the bars of his cell, unable to see anything past the bright light glaring at his face. "Who are you?" Someone scoffed in answer and Izar seethed, his temper already on a short leash.

"You're looking pretty good, Black," the voice taunted.

Izar tipped back his head and gave a yell of frustration and anger when he identified the man as Barty Crouch Jr.

"That is enough. Both of you," a particularly familiar voice interrupted Izar before he could lash out. "Falling into futility will do you no good, Izar. From what I can see, you need all the control you can get."

"Tom?" Izar whispered in question as he fell limp in his chains. His head bowed forward causing his hair to fall into his face, giving him a marginal inch of privacy. It was all he could do with the eyes watching him. He was powerless to adjust his position and image in their eyes. It was degrading.

"Among others," Riddle hinted that they were not alone and were likely heavily watched.

For a long moment, Izar concentrated on the sound of Barty's breathing while he pieced together his sanity. He had underestimated Rufus. Izar originally thought that security would lessen after the torture, but as he opened himself up, he could sense the multiple bodies outside his cell. Nonetheless, Rufus also underestimated Izar and the Minister was unaware of his magic-sensitivity.

"You look good in chains," Riddle suddenly announced.

Izar flinched. His shoulders tightened and he became on edge. It was difficult to tell for certain if this really was Riddle or not. They had the same voice, yes, but considering Izar was smothering his creature, he did not feel the familiar pull toward the man he usually did. Their link—their bond—was not present and Izar didn't feel as if he was on the same wave-length. Though, knowing Voldemort, Izar believed Riddle wouldn't draw attention to his sexual attraction for Izar in front of prying eyes and ears. It had to be an underlying meaning or opening for Izar to step in.

And he did. "They'll be off shortly." Meaning, he would make his move soon.

Riddle gave an engrossed sound in his throat. "Is that so?" the man asked in disbelief. A finger tapped the bars, reflecting Riddle's impatience and anger. "The Dark Lord could kill you, you know. He killed other Death Eaters through the Dark Mark. Some may even think you would find it easier to face death than the unjust torture."

"No!" Izar growled, his head shooting up from its bowed position. He knew exactly what the man implied. Izar could pretend that his Mark was acting up and then collapse. He would have no heartbeat and his skin would be cold to the touch. The Ministry would think him dead. But there were too many unknown factors with that plan. "He will not. I can handle this interrogation." He could handle his own escape and he didn't need Voldemort's aid.

"You appear to be handling it well," came the sarcastic response. "Nonetheless, there is nothing I can do at the moment." Nothing Riddle could do politically.

"And my Lord can do nothing," Izar added pointedly. "It would be unwise. Let me have my fun."

A hiss sounded. It was quiet to Izar's ears and he struggled to catch it. _"You are an exceptional mind, child. You have thought out your steps correctly, though, I find little trust that you can accomplish this feat in the state you're in." _

Izar just shook his head in response.

"Stubborn," Riddle tsked smoothly. The man then chuckled. "Mr. Crouch and I will be meeting with a legal representative within the hour. If we cannot figure something out by then, we may have to send word for extra aid. Political scenes nowadays seem only to be a ruse. Locking up minors and torturing them… it disgusts me."

With his current mental health, it took Izar a long moment to tear apart the man's words into the real meaning. Izar bowed his head, his brows furrowing as he pressed his large toes into the ground and pivoted his body around. The action left a trail of blood on the ground and it also opened up his wound on his calf. He paid it no heed as he faced the stone wall and showed the two wizards his back. His posterior was less wounded. He refused to look like a gutted fish in their eyes.

Lifting his chin and opening his eyes, Izar studied the grey and cold brick. _"Only an hour?" _he hissed quietly. _"You don't give me much time." _His Parseltongue wouldn't be picked up by anyone but Riddle with the man's sharp hearing.

"It will be a challenge," Riddle responded smugly. "…to get you out of here by legal means when the Minister has so much power. Though, I'm not a very patient man. It will happen as quickly as I can make it happen."

A challenge. Always a challenge with the Dark Lord. Though, the man's words were brilliant. The ones listening in would report this back to Rufus and Rufus would automatically think that Voldemort would be making the move. They would expect an attack from outside the Ministry, not inside.

The chains clinked together as Izar tried to move his hands. _"I would have liked to stay and see where this went—the torture and questioning, that is. After a couple of more sessions, I'd even wager they would lessen their security even more than they have." _Izar smiled thinly when he all but _felt _the man's displeasure. _"Unfortunately, I cannot stay. The war is fast approaching the end and I need to construct the last of the Horcruxes." _

By appearance and sound to the outsiders, it seemed as if Tom Riddle was having his own conversation. Izar was too silent for anyone to hear and he looked as if he were defeated, shameless—relying on his mentor's words and aid.

"Do not worry, my young charge. Barty and I will do all we can to lessen the legal obstacles in the way of your release. Despite his power as a Minister, Rufus will not stand a chance in the face of true justice."

Izar gave a breathless chuckle. _"Don't insult me," _he hissed arrogantly when he read the underlying message of the Dark Lord. Riddle would attempt to draw away some of the Aurors surrounding him. _"I can handle as many guards as they place on me. With or without a damned wand." _

Suddenly, Izar shifted focus and loosened his posture. Bowing his head, he swung back around and toward the bright light. He morphed his face into one of desperation. "Please…" Izar whispered loud enough for the humans to hear. "Tom… please hurry. I don't know how much more I can take." He offered a pitiful expression and he knew that it would appear genuine. Lamentably, it was difficult to come to terms with the fact that he had a pretty and innocent face. But then again, he could use it to his advantage.

He could almost hear the scoff coming from the guards.

"I will hurry," Riddle reassured. 'As will _you_', the words all but spoke themselves.

Izar listened with a bowed head as they left his holding cell. Adrenaline seemed to burn hotly inside Izar.

Oh, he couldn't _wait_.

**{Death of Today}**

"I apologize for my lapse of protection around the Hogwarts wards tonight, but does he honestly expect us to drop everything, sacrifice everything, just to save his worthless arse?" Barty Crouch Junior demanded softly as they sauntered down the corridor from the holding cell.

"Hmm…" Riddle began. "Something like that." The tall and powerful man tugged on a pair of stiff leather gloves. Flexing the fingers, brown eyes seemed to cloud crimson. "Your part has come to its closing. Take your leave and go back to the base."

Crouch watched as his Lord began to depart down the opposite direction. "That's all?" his voice seemed empty as it chased his Lord's back. "You don't want me to prepare the army—"

"No."

The younger wizard blinked. He began trying to piece together the events from tonight. Perhaps he hadn't analyzed his Lord closely enough when he interacted with Black. Was there something there he hadn't seen? Was it… _Black _he hadn't watched closely enough? Impossible. The brat was as subtle as a damned Hufflepuff.

But then, his Lord's words from tonight struck something deep within him. _"I all but raised him, Rufus." _Barty swallowed the sharp emotion of jealousy and suffered down the bitterness. When he was younger, the Dark Lord had always seemed to be there when Barty's father had not. With time, he slowly began seeing the powerful wizard as a sort of father-figure.

He had to accept the fact that Black also didn't have a father or mother growing up. And that their Lord preyed and fed off the vulnerabilities of both enemies and comrades alike. There would be others his Lord fabricated as being fond over...

"And you? What about you?"

His Lord continued down the corridor, his figure slowly becoming unidentifiable in the dark. "I have some unfinished business to attend to."


	62. Part II Chapter 30

**{Notes:} **Thanks for all of your reviews. You guys are what keeps me going after so… _l o n g_…

**Warnings: **A _small _bit of gore. Just a glimpse. Also, horrible grammar.

**Chapter Thirty**

It was an unnerving day in the Ministry.

The wandering Auror gradually made his way down the corridor, squinting in the poorly lit structure. He was on break and ordered to rest up in the Auror lounge. Usually, the halls were lively and full of men and women suited up. Today, though, there was a heavily secured prisoner that needed bodies and extra aid was ordered to stand guard near the Ministry entrance. Apparently Shacklebolt, Moody, and Scrimgeour believed there would be a threat to security tonight… or… this morning.

Aaron was often praised for his stealth, but at the moment, his footsteps sounded deafening to his ears. Up ahead, he could see a shape lying motionless on the ground. Cautiously, Aaron took his wand out and held it at the ready. Shuffling his feet in order to advance at the ready, he approached the dark and unidentified object. With his back against the secure wall, Aaron swept his gaze coldly across the shadowed and vacant area.

There was nothing in sight. Perspiration beaded his forehead as he kept his wand raised and ears open. Eyes lowering, he squinted at the object, trying in vain to identify it. Was it a person?

"Hey," Aaron called softly. "You awake?"

Near him, something whisked by his person. He pivoted sharply, his eyes searching the corridor. Nothing. Eyes dancing quickly from one corner to the other, Aaron then took a step toward the body. As soon as he neared, his boots squelched in something wet and soft.

"Damn it," he growled. Shifting, he tried to step away from what appeared to be spilt food. Perhaps someone had been drinking too much in celebration of the capture of Izar Black. It was common for off-duty Aurors to celebrate early, despite their superior's disproval.

"_Lumos," _he intoned reluctantly. He felt eyes on him. The last thing he needed was light to draw his enemy closer.

Aaron scoffed and shook his head. His comrades constantly teased him about his paranoia, there probably was no enemy but he couldn't help believing it. His parents had been slain by Death Eaters. His sister and his brother-in-law were killed by Death Eaters. He had even been attacked by Death Eaters unexpectedly. It should be normal for someone like him to experience paranoia.

Aaron slanted the tip of his wand downward, squinting in incomprehensiveness. "What the…_fuck_?" His wand hand trembled as he stared at the overwhelming amount of red and purple. It took him a long moment to realize that it was a torn body he was seeing. Pieces of intestines were in places they shouldn't have been while bone and muscle were strewn across the ground.

"Fuck!" Aaron screamed, stumbling backward when he realized he wasn't stepping on spilt food but a…a… bloody organ? His eyes turned toward what he assumed was the beginning of the body, only to realize the head and face were left untouched.

Wide blue eyes stared back at him. It was the face of James Schrill… the Ministry enforcer who was in charge of interrogations. His most recent interrogation? Izar Black.

Aaron pushed his back against the wall before turning sideways and emptying out his stomach. The vomit landed in a puddle of blood with an audible _splash_.

"It can be a shock, I suppose."

The Auror yelped at the whispered words to his immediate left. He turned abruptly, his wand pointing straight at… nothing. Again. Nothing… he was going insane. He really was. The voice had been nothing but a whisper, he could have easily imagined it due to his shock… perhaps his sanity had left him the day he found his pregnant sister slain.

"But I thought Aurors, like you, had stomachs of steel."

Aaron turned to his right where he heard the voice, breathing heavily and his hand quivering frantically. There was nothing there but a vacant corridor. He hadn't trained long enough to deal with this… he…he… he was too young! Too _inexperienced_!

"Stop playing around!" he screamed, spit flying past his trembling lips. "You fucking insane bastard! You're crazy!"

"Perhaps you're the crazy one," the voice rasped smugly. "Though, while I suppose I _am _a bastard, there is only one person who may call me that and live." The voice paused to consider. "And he does call me that often."

The voice was coming from every which direction. Aaron's legs jerked toward the staircase, his instincts telling him to run but his logic telling him running would only make it worse. Keeping one hand raised, Aaron dug inside his pocket, pressing his emergency badge. It was a small object that was handed out to every Auror in case of emergencies. It could track members of the team and it could also send a beacon to his team, informing them he was in need of assistance.

"I was hoping you would do that," the voice mused. "I'm afraid your friend Mr. Schrill was not fast enough to alert for help."

Hoping to outsmart his enemy, Aaron cast a binding spell over his shoulder where the voice came from. He did it in such a way that he hadn't moved his own position, a maneuver that wouldn't alert his enemy to an attack. A heavy _thumping _sounded behind him and Aaron's eyes widened, unable to believe it had been that easy. He turned, another curse resting on his lips, until he realized there was no one there.

"I've been behind you this entire time, _Aaron_."

Aaron whirled around, wondering when he had stepped away from the wall. Raising his lit wand, he stumbled backward with a sharp intake of breath as red-slit eyes and fangs were highlighted from the _lumos._

He only had time to scream before his attacker lunged.

** {Death of Today}**

"Sleeping like a damned baby," someone groused from outside Izar's cell door. "He must be used to chains." The group snickered darkly and Izar grinned softly with his head bowed. "What are the chances he's into that kind of stuff?"

Really, they were getting _so _good until that last comment. Izar found sexual fetishes rather pointless. At least, _he _found them pointless. Others obviously got off from them. Though… if he thought about it, Voldemort seemed like the type of man who would get into that kind of practice. Then again, maybe not. Voldemort was more into dominance and the mind games _before _the actual sex, just as Izar. He mused silently for a moment before widening his eyes. With a startling awareness, he realized _that was _a damned fetish. Disgusting. He got off by physiological games and physical domination… he was no better than the humans standing outside his cell.

Why was he thinking of this again? Damned humans and their impenetrable minds. They were rubbing off Izar the more he stayed within their proximity. He had a task to focus on. Listening to their endless attempts at humor was getting him nowhere.

Bit by bit, Izar was opening up his creature-core. He could feel his energy begin to rise and the deep wounds begin to close. The throbbing across his body slowly became nonexistent while his incoherent mind soon sharpened. His senses were also improving. That damned light shining on him was an even larger nuisance then it had been before.

Luckily, the blood smeared across his body made it appear as if he were still wounded. The onlookers wouldn't think anything of his condition. Izar had silently tracked their whereabouts for the past few minutes. They had migrated in a group to the side of his cell—four of them. Outside the room, Izar could hear two silent bodies—most likely veterans. He wasn't very familiar with this level of the Ministry, however, he was aware of the fact that it was almost like a maze. It would take him a great amount of stealth to exit the Ministry undetected. Aurors were patrolling the corridors around the cells and most likely the exits.

Izar tugged on his chains, testing the anchor holding them up. Fortunately, it was bolted and not magically reinforced. Just as he was about to put his plan into motion, a fifth body entered the holding room.

"Did you hear?" The voice was oddly urgent and excited. "Rookie team was found in the corridors. Dead. All of them, slaughtered. The perpetrator hasn't been identified or captured."

The Black heir froze and immediately narrowed his eyes. Lank wavy hair fell in his eyes as he glowered at the wall across from him.

"The Minister is calling for reinforcements."

There were bemused murmurs amongst the Aurors. Most of them didn't share their partner's excitement on the subject. "Where does the Minister want us?" one of the regular men standing guard asked.

"Right where you are," the newcomer informed. "Minister Scrimgeour wants more guards around Black. He reckons it's a diversion to draw us away from the prisoner. Bloody messed up, if you ask me. I heard the whole team was brutalized pretty badly."

"_All _of them dead? There must be more than just one culprit."

"I'd wager there is a group of them hiding inside the Ministry. Scrimgeour is going to lockdown the Ministry shortly. No one will be allowed to leave or exit the building until Moody and Shacklebolt declare everything under control."

Izar seethed. Was Voldemort that much of a bastard or was Scrimgeour just getting smarter? It was likely a combination of both. Voldemort wanted to get his hands on Izar's tormentor while Scrimgeour was getting familiar with predicting his enemies' moves. Voldemort could have also done this to make Izar's escape more complicated. Either way, Izar had to act. _Now. _

He tugged the chains from the ceiling and he and his shackles fell to the ground. Izar made a show of rolling on the ground, moaning in pain. His foot intentionally jerked and knocked over the searing light pointing in his direction.

"My arm," Izar hissed in desperation. "The _Mark_!" He rolled on his knees, awkwardly clutching his left forearm with his cuffed hands. Clenching his teeth, he looked up at the men peering in his cell with surprise and bemusement written across their faces. "Please, he's killing me. The Dark Lord is killing me!"

One of the Aurors took a step back. "Scrimgeour mentioned something like this might happen. Let me go alert him."

Just as the man made a move toward the door, Izar moaned. He couldn't alert the two men standing outside the door to what was going on. If they somehow knew there was a scuffle, they would alert the other Aurors nearby and, in turn, they would alert even more guards. "There's no time," Izar muttered, curling into himself. "You need to amputate my arm. Please." As if it was that easy, as if Voldemort were that stupid. The Mark was deeply bound with the body. Cutting off the arm would make no difference—but they didn't need to know that.

He caught at least one man who looked suspiciously down at Izar. The other four were just plain idiots as they began to unlock his cell door.

Izar wheezed, curling on himself and bowing his forehead to the ground. He prepared his body in the right position, counting down to the last second as they moved into his premeditated stances. One would crouch down in front of him, one would cover the one who crouched, and the others would stand in position at the open door.

"Just let the bastard die," one of them whispered, halting the process of opening the cell. "After what he's done, he deserves to die. It'll teach him just how merciful his _Master _really is."

"It'd be fine by me. But Scrimgeour needs this one alive for now."

Making a show of trembling, Izar gave a toothy smile that was easily veiled from their eyes. Through fallen bangs, he watched as one Auror approached him with his wand raised, ready to cut off his left arm. As soon as the first syllable was out of the Auror's mouth, Izar sprang.

His fingers slapped the underside of the Auror's wrist, causing the wand to jump in the air. The unaware wizard didn't stand a chance as Izar grabbed the wand craftily, casting a _Silenco _around the room. Throwing the wand further inside the cell, Izar advanced toward the shell-shocked Auror and pivoted behind the man. Bringing his arms around the Auror's neck, he wrapped the chains around the throat in a crisscross pattern. With deliberate steps, he tugged hard, snapping the man's neck instantly. Using the prone corpse as a shield for the curses sent his way, Izar turned and pushed the dead Auror into the group of wizards.

They were quick, Izar would give them that. However, _he _was quicker, with or without his creature reflexes.

Izar twisted an Auror's wand arm until it snapped in a clean break, another's face was crushed by his foot, and another was lying unconscious from a blow to his head before Izar could face his last opponent. The burly Auror was standing a good distance away—too far for Izar to reach. While his creature was back in full power, he still wanted to avoid other's knowing of his immortality. His magic-sensitivity, on the other hand, would likely be discovered after today's escapade.

Izar reached out his arm just as the curse left the Auror's wand. Side-stepping the green bolt of magic, Izar made a pinching motion with his index and thumb finger. He promised himself he would never cut off someone's magical core like Cygnus had done. It was cowardly and it was spineless. However, at the moment, he did not have his wand to properly defend himself and he was under a time limit.

As soon as he clutched the man's magical core, the Auror dropped to his knees, his eyes wide and his mouth unhinged. Nothing escaped past his trembling lips, but Izar could all but taste the silent scream. Keeping his attention on the man at his feet, Izar threw back his left elbow, connecting it with the Auror's nose as his enemy came up behind him. He offered a crooked grin as he heard the body collapse to the ground. So what if he added a bit of his creature strength behind his hits?

"Oh my," Izar breathed, dropping his arm and looking down at himself. "I can't parade around in my underwear, now can I? No matter how appealing it may be to others…"

His bare feet slapped the ground as he looked at the five bodies strewn across the ground; one was dead, one was still unconscious, one was too terrified of losing his magic that he might as well be useless, the other was holding his bloody nose, and the other was clutching at his arm— appearing bemused and frightened. They made a lot.

The sound of a wand being dragged across the ground drew Izar's attention. With reflexes that would be too quick for a human to track, Izar turned, stomping his heel down and snapping the wand in half.

He tsked, raising his brows at the consistent man. It was the oldest Auror in the bunch and Izar had to give credit to where it was due. Even with a broken and bloody nose, the Auror had enough sense to realize he could still keep going. Sadly, with his broken wand in front of him, the man seemed to deflate.

"You." Izar pointed to the youngest and smallest man with the broken arm. "Strip."

The brunette offered Izar a look of disdain and refused to move.

"I don't have time for this," Izar growled. He kept his attention on all the wizards but took an advancing step toward the youngest Auror. Raising his hand, he ignored the warning cry from the Auror to his left as he pinched the man's magical core. The young man's eyes widened and he screamed in loss. "I can take your magic away or I can give it back with your cooperation. You take your pick."

"G-give it back!" the man screamed. "Please! Give it back!"

Izar sighed, dropping his hand and releasing his hold over the tantalizing magic. The Auror gasped for breath, his limbs shaking with visible tremors.

"Your clothes… strip."

**{Death of Today}**

Rufus made his way down to the deepest cell block, nodding sharply to the two Aurors standing guard outside Black's holding cell. Behind Rufus, there were three Aurors standing at attention, alert for an attack at the rear.

"Report," Rufus barked out.

"Nothing suspicious, sir." Both guards straightened their positions, their arm crossed over their chest in the typical position two wizards would take when guarding an entrance. Both of their wands were pointed inward, ready to cast if someone were to enter or exit forcibly.

The Minister grunted, his mind elsewhere. He had just finished meeting with Shacklebolt and Moody. Both veterans were ordered to stay close to the exits of the Ministry. While Rufus intentionally had Black overhear an Auror talking about extra security around his cell, it had just been a ruse. In fact, Rufus had _pulled _security away from Black in order for the Aurors to roam the corridors closest to the stairwells and the lifts. After the gruesome sight in the corridors, Rufus wasn't taking any damn chances. Ten men— slaughtered like Muggle pigs— were as much as Rufus could afford to lose.

The fact that James Schrill, the Auror enforcer, was among the dead and most brutally mutilated warned Rufus that Riddle was behind this. A few weeks ago, Rufus was finally told that Riddle was Lord Voldemort and it took days to come to terms with it. There was no proof, nothing but Albus Dumbledore's word. Dumbledore's word meant very little to Rufus. Light Lords, Dark Lords, they were all the same. The Ministry is what had the populations' wellbeing in mind.

It would be easier to ban Tom Riddle from the Ministry all together, but Rufus was confined by his lack of evidence. At times, even Rufus found it hard to believe that the sharp politician was a sociopathic killer.

The Minister swept in the holding cell, stopping short when he spied an empty room. He limped quickly inside, his eyes sharp as he peered inside the cell.

"My…gods…" Rufus hissed in disbelief.

Four of his Aurors were strung up in a similar fashion that Izar Black had recently been in. One wizard was stripped down to his boxers while the others only had naked feet. Blood dripped from their soles and began to puddle around their mutilated toes. All of them were unconscious… or dead, unaware of the bright spotlight highlighting their immobile forms.

The men at Rufus' back quickly unlocked the cell door and checked their comrades' health. The Minister could only stand there stiffly, knowing the Dark Lord had found a way inside. Despite the Aurors, despite the security charms he placed around the cell—the Dark Lord found a way to slither past Rufus' closed fist. An alarm was meant to go off if any Dark Arts were practiced inside this room. Surely the Dark Lord hadn't used Light or neutral magic to do _this…_

"All of them are alive, sir, save for Collins."

Rufus' mind frame suddenly flipped its focus on Black. It had to be Izar who had escaped himself. If it had been the Dark Lord, the man wouldn't have left behind any survivors.

Limping outside the door, Rufus grabbed the nearest Auror. "Who recently left Black's holding cell?"

The man appeared startled as he looked at Rufus' hand on his shoulder. "Marlens, Minister. Marlens… and Barnes was with him."

Marlens had been the Auror Rufus specifically sent to Black's cell to make the boy believe security was tighter around his holding area. Barnes, on the other hand, was currently strung up in Black's holding cell while Marlens was oddly absent. "Did you see Barnes' face?" Rufus demanded, his battle-scarred fingers tightening. "Or was he wearing a hood?"

The Auror grimaced. "It was the official uniform, sir…" he trailed off lamely. "Marlens had his face revealed and he escorted an ill Barnes to the infirmary. Marlens looked pretty concerned for Barnes' well-being. He said it was urgent— a stomach flu." The man held up his hands in surrender at Rufus' sharp look. "It was only minutes ago, sir!"

Rufus allowed his hand to slip, barely controlling the roar residing in his chest. "I asked you for a report, soldier. You said that there was nothing suspicious. Would you like to reconsider your words?" Without waiting for a response, Rufus turned his heel and limped down the corridor, his mind in a haze.

How had Black escaped? Running a hand threw his slick and oiled hair, Rufus grunted, quickly making his way from the depths of the holding cells. Analyzing and contemplating Black's ability to escape would get him nowhere. He could marvel at the boy's genius later, preferably when Rufus had the boy under chains once again. What mattered now was that Black was parading around the Ministry as an Auror.

Intelligent as Black may be, Rufus had control of the whole Ministry and he knew how the young prodigy's mind worked.

Who had the upper hand?

**{Death of Today}**

"_Thirty minutes, child… you're running out of time." _The hissing trailed off into a fit of chuckles, chasing after Izar's heels.

"I can make it in _twenty_," Izar boasted, a sly grin stretching his lips. He secured his hood, covering a good portion of his face. Next to him, the Auror he took at wand point glanced at him oddly. Izar couldn't care a less. The man was his ticket out of the Ministry. Let the Auror think him insane, it wouldn't be too far from the truth.

He was more than aware of Voldemort following him—observing him. How the man did that, Izar did not know. It was not a simple Disillusionment Charm. He knew there was a Dark Arts spell that allowed the caster to melt within the shadows and travel easily through darkened atmospheres without being seen. It was advanced magic and something Izar hadn't had time to really look at.

When the hell _did _he have time? Ever since the war began, Izar found it difficult to do the things he wanted. It was all about creating Horcruxes, going to raids, arguing with Voldemort…

When the war was over, Izar wanted a few months, if not a few years off before he and Voldemort began their next phase of immortality. There were things he wanted to learn, to study, and to invent before he had to continue. His spell-making was lacking ever since he left Hogwarts and he desperately needed more curses to abolish his enemies. Spells that were taught in school were so _boring. _

He supposed, now that he was considered an 'adult', he didn't have as much free time as he once had. It was a bit disappointing.

"You won't get away with this," the Auror murmured with light glee.

Izar blinked at the tone, turning his head sideways to study the tall and burly man. It was the same Auror that Izar had used his magic-sensitivity on. It seemed as if the Auror had recovered from the fright of his magic draining for him. "What is your name?" Izar breathed in simple curiosity.

"As if I would tell you. You're a worthless piece of scum."

"Oh," Izar sniffed. "That was a bit insensitive and uncalled for." He reached forward suddenly, wrapping his hand around the back of the Auror's neck. His fingers imbedded into the skin, putting pressure on the sensitive points in the man's throat. "Especially when I'm the one holding your life literally in my hand."

The dark-haired Auror jeered loudly. "As if a skinny punk like you could do anything. I know that you need me alive to get your arse out of here. Keep talking big. I knew men like you. You're insecure of yourself, so you overcompensate by trying to control others."

Izar stopped short in his escape of level two. One more level and he would be on the top floor of the Ministry. He kept his hand encircled around the man's neck, putting even more pressure on the appendage. "One, you talk far too much." Izar took a step closer, staring closely at the man's dark grey eyes. "Two? Do not challenge me, because I am always forced to accept it. I do not… need you."

Just as the Auror made a movement to swipe at Izar, the Black heir tightened his hand around the man's throat and squeezed until it snapped. Izar stepped over the prone figure, stalking down the corridor. Just as he was summoning another plan to get out of the Ministry, a tiny beep sounded from behind him. Izar turned sharply, eyeing the dark corridor but knowing there was no one there besides a silent Dark Lord and a corpse.

His eyes sharpened when he zeroed in on a blinking red light in the Auror's pocket. Izar lunged, sticking his hand in the man's pocket and pulling out a silver hexagon, the size no bigger than the pad of his thumb. Squinting, he could make out the Ministry logo and the small button. At the moment, it was glowing red before dimming back into the silver of a regular coin.

"Bloody hell," he hissed. How could he be so _stupid_? Of course the Aurors would have a device that would track and act as an emergency contact. Izar dug in his own pocket, having to pry apart the metal object from the fabric before he brought it out and stared at the identical device. He had burrowed the Auror robes from the man back in his cell.

Izar bounced back in a crouch, rolling on his heels and thinking. His first instinct was to destroy it. It would be only logical. But…

He rubbed his face, hearing the footsteps and feeling the auras coming closer to his position. His fingers acted as an anxiety relief as they tapped lightly on his skin before caressing. If he couldn't get out within the time-limit Voldemort set for him, Izar would have to admit defeat and the Dark Lord would take matters into his own hands. Defeat was _not _an option for Izar.

Snapping open his eyes, Izar pocketed the Auror device once again and grabbed the dead Auror's robes. He pulled the corpse along the corridor and toward the open lift. Propping the body against the wall, Izar stood back just as the Aurors turned the corner. The Black heir offered a cocky grin and waved sweetly just as the lift door closed. He pulled the lever, dropping the lift toward the lowest level of the Ministry.

However, just as they hit level five, the lift gave a groan before coming to a sharp halt. The lights flickered off and an audible siren blared across the Ministry. Izar leaned against the wall of the lift, staring levelly at the now visible Dark Lord. The man was grinning ear to ear, staring at the open pocket watch he had given Izar as a gift. His long fingers clutched the piece of jewelry, tapping in rhythm of the seconds passing.

"This is your Minister for Magic speaking," a voice sounded over the intercom. It sounded like a pre-recorded tape of Minister Fudge. "Effective immediately, there will be a scheduled lockdown for all Departments in the Ministry. Halls and corridors will be cleared and employees will be asked to remain in their offices until the lockdown has been completed. Lifts exiting and entering the Ministry will be deactivated as will all Floo directories. Trained Aurors will be walking the corridors, aiding and escorting all visitors in the direction of assigned safe-zones. Anyone seen not complying with the lockdown will face possible suspension. Thank you for your compliance as we make our Ministry stronger and more secure."

Izar smiled thinly. Scrimgeour was closing down the Ministry? Granted it was late night, early morning, and there would hardly be any employees in the office at this hour. But the exits would be sealed off—deactivated. It only added a slight inconvenience for Izar.

"I hope your continued presence will not draw attention to my whereabouts," Izar warned darkly. "If it will—"

"Child, they already know your whereabouts," Voldemort commented airily. Crimson eyes traced obsessively over Izar's face before looking upward. "In fact, if I'm not mistaken, a fleet of Aurors are flocking in your direction."

"I was hoping as such." Izar dipped down low, kneeling on the ground. "How many minutes do I have left?" He pulled out his and the dead man's Auror device.

"Fourteen."

The statement made Izar stop short as he clutched the Auror's wand. "Bullshit. You're subtracting minutes. You just said thirty a few minutes ago."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows at Izar's coarse language. "You stated that you could make it out of here in twenty minutes. That was six minutes ago. Naturally, I deducted the necessary minutes in order to correlate with your over-confident declaration."

Izar cut off the dead Auror's hand and Transfigured it into a rat. The young wizard grabbed the squirming rodent before it could chew any holes in the lift. "I'll tell you what. I will make it out of here in fourteen minutes. Better yet, if I get out of here in ten minutes… you'll let me top next time…"

Silence came from the Dark Lord as the man considered his negotiation. Izar couldn't study the man's expression, for he was scrambling. He needed to accurately transfigure the rat to have the mind frame of _running_ and hiding. The rodent was squirming in his hand as Izar tweaked the magical properties of the rat. A light blue glowed brightly around the rat's ears before Izar grabbed his Auror emergency badge and pried open the rat's mouth.

"Deal," Voldemort surprisingly agreed. "You may top, but I will still be the one _delivering_. And if you miss the ten minute mark, you're in my bed for the remainder of the week. Willingly opening your legs whenever I so chose." The man's tone was husky and possessive, making the hairs on the back of Izar's neck to stand.

Ignoring the man for a moment, Izar thrust the Auror emergency badge down the rat's mouth, making sure it went down the throat. "Absolutely not. No deal." He then released the rat, watching as it scurried around the lift, creating a distance between itself and Voldemort. The prodigy then made sure the dead man's Auror badge was securely inside the corpse's pocket before turning toward the lift door and ceiling.

"You're refusing a challenge? My, it sounds as if you don't believe you'll make it out of here in ten minutes."

Voldemort's words washed over Izar as he reinforced the lift door and ceiling with protection spells. He layered the wards so they created an onion-like appearance that only he could see. The Aurors were already trying to get inside, but Izar held his own. His wards were too strong. He _knew _magic. Obviously, he intended for the Aurors to break through the wards in a few minutes, so he created weak points in the protection barrier. Smirking, he added the last layer of wards to the lift, hiding it skillfully behind the protection charms. The Aurors would be in for a rude awakening when they hit their intended goal.

The whole lift shifted as an attack came from above. They were so predictable. So _easy_.

Izar then grabbed the rat and began cutting a hole at the bottom of the lift. He knew that there was a possibility that they would expect him to climb from the lift. But they wouldn't expect him to travel downward, especially if there were more than four levels beneath him. Charming his hands and feet to stick easily to the wall, he then tapped his wand on top his head, casting a nonverbal Disillusionment Charm. The sensation of cold liquid dripped down his back, causing Izar to shiver.

"If you make breakfast for me, then you've got yourself a deal," Izar called to Voldemort over his shoulder. The Black heir then placed a Weightless Charm on the rat and threw it down the hole. "Though, you better keep up with me. I'm not coming back to save your arse."

And then Izar jumped.

He withheld a delighted laugh as he fell. A part of him was tempted to let himself drop to the bottom. After all, he wouldn't die. But he had a shortened time limit now and falling to the ground would surely put him behind. Instead, he reached out and clung to the stone wall. His feet curled, touching the wall before he began running up the vertical incline. There was a minimal amount of space to fit past the suspended lift, but Izar managed to squeeze himself out from behind the elevator and further up the shoot.

His eyes ghosted over toward the Aurors who were standing on the floor above the suspend lift and attacking it. Fools didn't even flinch as Izar made his way up the wall next to their wands. He could have easily beheaded them on his way up, but thought better of it.

"The monitor reads that he escaped the lift and jumped below…"

Izar exhaled in amusement as he scaled quickly up the wall and past level two. They were a ways behind him now, but Izar could still hear as half of the Aurors ran below to where the rat was leading them on a wild hunt. He knew he would have the Aurors split. One group would be on level four, attacking the lift from above. The second group would be on level five, trying to open the lift from the front. And then there was the third group who would take the chance and follow the rat that swallowed the Auror emergency badge. However, Izar was not naïve. Nor was Rufus. Scrimgeour was around here somewhere and he was not part of his crowd of soldiers.

Releasing the Disillusionment Charm from his body, Izar jumped out of the elevator shoot and onto the furthest peak in the Ministry. It was the overhang above the Ministry lobby. He crouched down low, peering over the ledge and down toward his exit. The grates were closed, making it impossible for him to Disapparate. Not only that, but there was an _army _of Aurors standing guard in symmetric rows.

Rufus Scrimgeour was standing at the forefront of the Aurors, his stance speaking volumes of his persistence to catch Izar.

Izar reached out an arm to his side where he could feel and sense Voldemort standing. "Follow my _every _move. There are a ridiculous amount of triggers around here. If you could see it… it's beautiful," he gushed. He brought up his hands in child-like wonder and smiled behind them.

There were Caterwauling Charms, Flagrante Curses, the _Homenum Revelio, _Intruder Charms, and the _Protego Totalum_. There was _everything _here and they were all waiting for someone to trigger it. It was a beautiful sight for a magic-sensitive. From pink to purple, to grey, to yellow… to neon green… all the colors were all but glowing in the dim Ministry.

They were different shapes and sizes as well. Some of the charms and curses were settled near the ground in a thin line while others appeared to be net-like. It was stunning. Izar peered closer to the sight below him. While there were booby-traps extremely close to where he was crouching currently, there was even more down below. The Aurors were standing stiffly, their shoulders almost brushing against the charms next to them. The charms would detect if any human was roaming about, if any Dark Magic was used, if any illusions were used…

A brilliant plan on Rufus' behalf. The man wouldn't expect Izar to creep into the depths of the Ministry like the other Aurors had expected. Instead, Scrimgeour created an illusion of Aurors waiting near the exit of the Ministry, but in reality, they were only props to lull Izar in a false sense of security. He would only be able to see the Aurors as the threat, not the triggers set around the whole lobby.

Regrettably, Izar was magic-sensitive and Rufus was oblivious to that fact.

No cage could keep Izar prisoner.

Suddenly, behind Izar and a few floors beneath, an explosion sounded before the whole Ministry seemed to tremble.

The Black heir remained crouching forward, grinning madly when he saw fire roar up the elevator shoot from the corner of his eye. It would appear as if the Aurors had finally broken through Izar's ward around the lift. Not all of them would make it out alive.

"Scratch that," Izar whispered as he fingered the wand in his hand. "Feel free to move at your own will."

He had an alternate plan. His original idea would take too long. Ducking and jumping over the detectors would take longer than his time limit and he couldn't be too sure if Voldemort would even care. After all, the man wanted Izar to take longer than his ten minutes which would likely now be—

"Four minutes," Voldemort hissed.

Izar gave a distracted hum as he watched the heads of the Aurors and Scrimgeour turn toward his position and to the general direction of the lift. The army was careful only to turn their heads, knowing that any sudden move would likely set off the sensors. With all these triggers lying around, Izar would have to do something a bit _flashy _and extreme. But that was definitely more his style than hoping and jumping like a fool over the triggers.

Casting another Disillusionment Charm on himself, Izar toed the edge of the platform. He was careful of avoiding any of the sensors before raising his wand. "_Adveloare, obticeoere,_" he whispered, causing a smoke-like substance to hover around his wand point. It would make his curse invisible and silent to the human eyes.

Izar then stood, snapping his cloak around his legs in order to give himself more leg room. Raising his wand, he thrust it in the air. "_Ingenero erraticus." _As soon as the last syllable left his mouth, Izar jumped from the high platform. His spell raced through the Ministry lobby, triggering every hidden charm and curse it could find. The magic went haywire, shooting off sparks and setting off alarms.

He landed in a deep crouch before he hurdled up and sprinted toward the Disapparation grates. As he neared the Aurors, he dropped his Disillusionment Charm and merged into the group. They were on edge as the detectors continued to go off, they wouldn't take notice of his extra body. He grinned broadly, making his way through the mess that was once a perfectly aligned group of Aurors. They crowded together, their wands out and ready but having nothing to aim at. Their superiors were shouting at them to remain calm and collected.

"Where are we aiming?" Izar asked quietly toward a female Auror.

"Nowhere for now," she replied back, glancing at him just briefly from the corner of her eye. "We don't want to add extra disorder in this environment. Just keep yourself steady. He's around here somewhere."

"Hmm…" Izar passed her and ducked closer to the closed exits. "I heard the Minister was actually Izar Black under Polyjuice Potion. What do you think of that?" he asked a tall man in front of him. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if one of _us _were Izar Black."

The grey-haired man just grunted, finding little humor in Izar's words as he focused on the balcony above. The Black heir grinned as he ducked below a few scurrying Aurors as they moved skillfully away from one of the curses that had gone off due to Izar's earlier spell. He was pushed through the patch of wizards and close toward one of the gates. Dropping his wand down his sleeve, he banished the bars from the grate but quickly put up an illusion that made it appear as if they were still there.

Just as stealthily, Izar ripped away the Anti-Disapparation Charm around the grate with his magic-sensitivity.

This was all too easy.

"Keep your guard up!" Rufus roared only a few feet from Izar's current position. "Be wary of your neighbor. He is among us, dressed as one of us."

The Auror next to Izar peered down at him through bottle-like glasses. The beady eyes widened, but before he could lift a wand or mutter a curse, Izar was already on him. _"Animus Lapis," _he whispered before dodging sideways and further down the crowd's perimeter.

"He's here!" the Auror yelled before giving a horrified scream as his legs turned into stone.

Everyone's horrified attention turned toward the Auror just as Izar snuck the opposite direction. Inching closer to the Apparation grates, he watched as the Auror gradually turned solid. The man's stance had been unbalanced when Izar had cast his curse, thus, when the man turned completely into stone, gravity took a hand in the completion. Falling forward, the Auror's body shattered into pieces as it hit the ground.

Izar backed up into the Apparation grate, standing on the other side of the imaginary bars that separated himself from the Aurors. It didn't surprise him that the first to notice him was Rufus. The Minister's yellow eyes widened in disbelief. Oddly enough, the Minister didn't make a motion to attack him. The man's lips tugged downward before they lifted at the corners.

It was a pity that it had been so easy for Izar. Now that the Minister would figure out he was magic-sensitive, perhaps things would become more of a challenge.

"I'm afraid we'll have to postpone our duel, Minister." _I have a Dark Lord that needs to prepare me breakfast. _"Until next time."

Izar saluted Rufus before Disapparating.

As his body raced through time and space, he realized he never _did _get his picture taken for the wanted fliers…

Bloody hell.

**{Death of Today}**

"I said I wanted bacon, not sausage," Izar murmured distractedly as he pushed the plate away from him.

"You insolent brat," Voldemort hissed. Across from the small dining room, Nagini was settled on top the armchair in front of the fireplace. She was watching the two wizards in interest. "We were out of bacon. You can either throw a fit or you can choke them down with a damned smile."

"Hmm," Izar flipped through the _Daily Prophet_. "You're a wizard, are you not? It shouldn't take too long to get your hands on some bacon." The Black heir turned a page, raising his eyebrows at the lack of description of this morning's events. It was very clipped, very short. The number of deaths was even rounded down. But then again, Izar and Voldemort had _just _gotten back to the base. The media was likely trying to scramble for details from the Ministry's closed lips. This would be a good opportunity for Tom Riddle to show his face once again to the public. Rufus Scrimgeour's repetition would go further downhill after this.

"You can either ask a House-elf for assistance." Izar threw a look at Nagini. _"Or you can skin Nagini and fry her. I'm sure she won't miss a few pounds off her incredible bulk." _

The serpent reared up and hissed crossly at Izar. Her hood expanded in defensive anger and her tail curled in a sharp hook.

He turned his attention away from the faux Horcrux and on to the man who remained standing motionless. The younger wizard sighed, catching sight of the prepared plate of breakfast. Admittedly, it looked delicious. Izar remembered the day he had woken up from his transformation. Voldemort had prepared dinner for the both of them with a surprising amount of knowledge on the culinary arts.

Three pancakes were stacked next to scrambled eggs and four links of sausage. In a separate bowl, there was cinnamon-flavored porridge with two raspberry scones. The best entrée? The glass of thick red liquid sitting across from him. Blood to replenish the energy that he had lost during the interrogation.

"I'll let your blunder slide, this time," Izar quipped. Before he could reach for his glass of blood, a hand grabbed his chin.

"You were impressive today," Voldemort breathed, bending low at the waist. The Dark Lord's opposite hand stroked Izar's cheek roughly before dancing upward and curling in Izar's roots. "And because of it, your cheek will be tolerated."

Izar gave a cheeky grin as the man leaned forward and crushed his lips against his own. He had been aware of the Dark Lord's excitement during their escape. How could he not be when he felt the enthusiastic spark in the man's aura whenever Izar killed someone? It was to be expected. Even Izar had felt hot and bothered whenever Voldemort was close during their exit.

It would be so easy to claim his prize now, Izar thought as he twisted his fingers in Voldemort's robes. Despite the fact that Izar would still be on the receiving end, he would be on _top_. As appealing as that may be, Izar wasn't in the mood. He needed to get substance in his body in order to regenerate his lost energy and he needed to _shower_.

The young wizard pulled away, staring levelly in the crimson eyes. "Before I was captured, I discovered Hogwarts' weak spot in the wards." Izar had to turn away from the aroused stare. Just because he wasn't in the mood now didn't mean Voldemort wasn't. Turning both his attention and the conversation around would chill the atmosphere until the Dark Lord became settled.

"Is that so?" the Dark Lord inquired. "Your comrades lead me to believe that you were not successful." The man took a seat across from Izar.

"That's because I purposely acted indifferent when I revealed it." Izar took hold of his glass and drank the thick liquid. It slid down his throat, satisfying his minor thirst and depleted energy. "I don't trust anyone. Who knows what kind of mishap they can get into if they knew where the weak point was?"

Voldemort issued an interested sound in his chest. "Very cunning," he praised silkily. "You're improving each day."

There was a double meaning behind his words. The man was both proud and cautious. As it should be. Voldemort was gradually teaching him the steps of becoming a powerful force. It would impress the Dark Lord when Izar was making noticeable strides, but there was also need for attentiveness. There would come a day when Izar was on his level and Voldemort would need to adjust his thinking just as quickly. The worse thing the man could do was underestimate Izar and believe that he would always be a student. Because that wouldn't be the case and Izar could easily play on that assumption.

"Dumbledore hasn't told Scrimgeour of my immortality. I can only assume that they're on odds." Izar stabbed a piece of egg.

The Dark Lord leaned back in his chair. "The Ministry hardly ever allies itself with a Lord. Their possessive of control because they find it difficult to accept they are not on level with a Lord's power. Thus, they need a powerhouse to reassure themselves they are one and not a mere minion of a Lord. Rufus Scrimgeour is no different. He's always been an independent leader. To accept Dumbledore's help would make him feel inferior."

"Makes sense," Izar spoke through the pancake in his mouth. Ignoring Voldemort's look of disdain, he waved his fork in the air. "I'm curious to know if Rufus will tell Dumbledore we were outside Hogwarts. Even if he did tell the Headmaster, it wouldn't matter much to us."

"Oh?" Voldemort leaned forward, eyeing Izar penetratingly. "And why is that?"

Izar placed his fork back on the table, curling his hands underneath his chin. "Even if Dumbledore knew I was magic-sensitive and I was looking for the wards' weak spot, there is nothing he could do. Over years of warding the school, it creates a knot in the spellwork. No matter how powerful Dumbledore may be, he cannot make that knot disappear. If he reinforces the wards, it may make it more difficult to unravel, but the knot will just get bigger. We'll be able to strip apart the wards."

"What if he were to take down all the previous protection wards and just use one? It would get rid of the knot, would it not?"

The Black heir grinned tightly. "That would be a very large mistake on his part. Not only would it make Hogwarts more vulnerable, but I could just rip away that one layer with simplicity. You see, there has never been a magic-sensitive like me before. Cygnus made it possible for me to strip magic from objects and pinch a wizard's core. Other magic-sensitives can just see and sense auras, they cannot strip it. I hardly see an opportunity for Dumbledore to use something against me. We'll be able to attack Hogwarts just as you planned."

Voldemort sat in silence for a good while, no doubt absorbing the information Izar just fed him. "You need to eat more," the man chided.

Izar looked down at his plate. His body did not need food, yet it gave him energy. Quite frankly, he wasn't in the mood to choke down more food, doubtless of the fact that it tasted appealing. "You're a mother hen."

Something danced wickedly behind Voldemort's eyes and a cruel smile spread across his thin lips. Izar paused, wondering at the expression. His answer came to him when a knock sounded at the door. The Dark Lord's expression only turned more gleeful at the sound, evidence that he had known someone was approaching before it happened.

"You might want to get that, child," the Dark Lord whispered darkly. Crimson eyes were bright as they watched Izar. "I'm afraid our guest will not be leaving… anytime soon."

Dread and apprehension settled in Izar's stomach. It took him a few seconds to move from his chair and toward the door. The individual standing on the other side had a strong and familiar aura. It couldn't be… no… it couldn't. He wouldn't be so _stupid_.

Izar opened the door, staring dumbly at the hooded figure. The man was standing tall, making Izar even more off-balance.

"Izar," the man breathed, reaching out and touching his cheek.

There was only one man Izar knew whose fingers were heavily decorated by rings. The cold metal touched his skin, bringing Izar out of his haze.

"Regulus?"

* * *

{**Notes**} A lot of you asked about Izar being able to kill himself through pinching his creature-core and doing something like… jumping off a cliff. That still wouldn't kill him, per say, it would just mute his creature abilities. He would be in indescribable amount of pain and a few limbs out of place. But considering he does not need to breathe or have a beating heart, he wouldn't die. However, Izar has a theory that if he shut off his creature-core _completely_, it would kill him. He doesn't even have to do anything after closing his core because as soon as it is closed entirely, it would kill him. This isn't proven and it's only his speculation because creatures need their magic to survive. Hopefully that makes sense.


	63. Part II Chapter 31

The lemon in this chapter was deleted (link is on my profile, just delete spaces). Another thing: There are grammar mistakes and typos. You have no idea how difficult and long this chapter was. I'll reread over it later. **Oh- and this will also be the chapter before the end, the peak before everything, the calm before the storm… I think you get the point. Thanks to all of you who reviewed & read. ;)**

**Enjoy.**

**Chapter Thirty One**

"You can't be here," Izar whispered fiercely. Behind him, a hissing chuckle sounded. He couldn't tell if it came from Voldemort or Nagini. "Why did you come?" He knew he sounded reserved, but Regulus was an idiot for coming here. After what happened…

Izar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and exiting Voldemort's chambers. The chuckle followed him, becoming inaudible when Izar slammed the door shut behind him. The last time he had seen Regulus, the man had been in a hospital bed, recovering from the attack in France. He remembered asking Regulus to run with him, to hide from the Ministry after Izar was found out to be a traitor during the Unspeakable raid. Regulus seemed to have woken up a different man, for he denied Izar his company and he also denounced the Dark… _or_the Dark Lord in specific.

Looking back on it now, Izar understood how foolish it was to want his father to accompany him on his exploits. Regulus spent half his life in hiding. It was selfish of Izar to ask Regulus to throw his freedom away once again. After all, there needed to be at least _one_Black in the public's good graces. And with Aiden to watch, someone needed to be around.

Voldemort had been angry with Regulus after hearing of the man's second betrayal. But that wasn't the reason for the Dark Lord's persistence of ending Regulus' life. His father and Snape had revealed Izar's immortality to Dumbledore. Regulus was, of course, ignorant to this detail. Nonetheless, Voldemort had been enraged. And there wasn't anything Izar could do to stop the man's decision of ending Regulus' or Severus' life.

_Or could he?_

"Why did I come?" Regulus repeated Izar's question with disbelief. "Because I was told that my brother died and his body was brought back by his nephew. Because my son had been captured by the Ministry. And because I was told I would never see you again…"

"Do you have _any_idea what position you are putting me in?" Izar demanded sharply. He turned his back to Voldemort's chambers, his shoulders hunching in defeat. "He's going to kill you. And I am powerless to stop it this time, father."

Regulus reached out a hand and curled it around Izar's bicep. "Please, let me speak to you. Alone."

There was a small, trivial part of Izar that wanted to deny his father his request. It would be easier not to grow attached before Izar was forced to watch Regulus die.

What the hell was he saying? He was already foolishly attached to his _father_, damned what Voldemort said. Attachments were necessary in life and Izar would never stop creating them. Yes it hurt when he lost them. Yes there would always be a gut-wrenching pain when he had to leave them behind, but it was worth it in the end. He couldn't imagine a life without interacting with Lucius Malfoy or having a soft bond with Daphne Greengrass. Severus Snape had always been his idol in school. And Regulus. Regulus hadn't been there for Izar as a child, but his father was present when he needed him the most. Attachments were what helped an individual grow and learn.

Izar put his hands in his pockets, smiling grimly. Voldemort once said that he didn't think Izar would ever stop forming attachments. The man was right.

"Follow me," he beckoned. Izar led the man down the corridor before entering a room that was situated close to Voldemort's chambers. It was the only room that was half-way comfortable in means of atmosphere. The only other rooms available were across the base and near the other Death Eaters that were housed here.

Distinctively, he focused his attention on Regulus. There was no sound of footsteps coming from the man, just the rustle of clothing. It was almost if he were _gliding_. "It's a medical charm I learned a few weeks after leaving the hospital," Regulus began, noting Izar's discrete observation. "The Charm correlates with my brain waves and maneuvers my body the direction I wish it to go. A very useful spell when I wish to leave the chair behind. Which is often, mind."

Izar sat on one of the chairs, watching closely as Regulus glided toward the opposite chair and sat rigidly. His father appeared the same. But that was to be expected. It seemed like ages since Izar had last seen Regulus. In reality, it had only been a few weeks.

"We parted on such…" Regulus hesitated. "You hadn't let me explain myself. I was torn watching you leave that day in the hospital."

"You could have owled me," Izar insisted coolly.

"I did," Regulus snapped. His nostrils flared beneath his hood and his fingers curled into fists. "I suppose Lucius was doing a famed job of keeping my owls out of your hands. He and the Dark Lord. So I decided to come here myself."

Izar leaned forward, placing his chin on his hand and staring levelly at his father. "You do realize that the Dark Lord is holding Snape prisoner here, correct?" His charmed green and charcoal eyes swept across Regulus' emotionless face. "And he is incredibly amused and happy you came to welcome your own death with open arms."

"I realize Severus has been missing, yes, but he isn't my priority at the moment. You are."

The younger wizard stood up and began pacing. "You're entirely clueless." It shouldn't have come to a shock for Izar. His father was accused wrongly by Voldemort. His death was certainly not necessary, but the Dark Lord did say that if anyone found out about their immortality, they would be killed.

Regulus dropped his hood, staring up at Izar with tired eyes. "Then fill me in, Izar. Stop prancing around the issue."

"Snape was helping you during your coma," Izar began, turning his heel and sitting back down. "He was nurturing your mind so you wouldn't acquire brain damage when you woke up." His father nodded once, his eyes already on edge. "He stumbled across something particularly interesting," Izar continued. "The fact that you knew I was immortal."

The blood seemed to drain from Regulus' face as he leaned further against the chair, searching Izar. "Izar…" Regulus shook his head, seemingly lost for words.

"Why didn't you talk to _me_ about that?" Izar pushed himself at the end of his chair, reaching forward and touching Regulus' knees. "Why did you keep it buried away?"

"You seemed so… secretive. I respected the boundaries you wanted to keep up. You didn't _seem_ unhappy or upset after your immortality, not that I could see. If you wanted to talk to me about it, you would approach me with it." Regulus grabbed hold of Izar's hand on his knee and tightened his grip. "I had a feeling that the topic of your immortality was meant to be discreet."

"Well," Izar grinned sourly. Regulus' statement surprised him. His father had always been overprotective, but then again, Regulus also understood there were boundaries. "Snape knew that the information you possessed would kill you. Voldemort would find out you knew of my immortality and he would hunt you down. Snape had this… _brilliant_idea that if he told Dumbledore first, Voldemort wouldn't be aware of the fact you were the one with the knowledge. The Dark Lord would believe Dumbledore was the one who discovered the information. Not you. Thus, Voldemort wouldn't go after you."

Regulus' mouth curled downward in an ugly grimace. He stared at Izar with strong disbelief and disgust. "I…" Regulus gave an acrimonious laugh. "I never, _ever_intended for Severus to do something like that, Izar. He had no right to put you in that situation. If I had known—"

"You didn't know anything, Regulus." Izar dropped the warm hand reluctantly. "You were kept in the dark with many things." The young wizard stood once again before Regulus. "It's in the past now. If anything, I understand Snape's reasons for trying to protect you. Voldemort was just two steps ahead of him. What I'm concerned about is your safety."

When Regulus stood, he had a few inches on Izar due to the charm helping him move. The older wizard pressed his palms to either side of Izar's face and brought him forward. "I don't regret coming here, even if it means my life." Regulus breathed in Izar's scent before burying his face into his son's hair. "I needed to see you, not only to make sure you're alright, but to reassure you that I could never abandon you."

Setting his chin on his father's shoulder, Izar allowed the man's fingers to trail affectionately through his hair. He noticed the subject change—away from his immortality. Either Regulus understood surprisingly well that Izar could not talk about it or his father was trying to take his own mind off the fact his son was 'manipulated by the Dark Lord to become immortal'. It was not like Izar to underestimate his father, but over the years, Izar believed there were a limited amount of people who could analyze things as well as Voldemort and himself.

The younger wizard slowly reached out an arm and curled it around Regulus. It didn't matter what Regulus was thinking. Right now, Izar was selfishly enjoying this. He knew this may be the last time he would see his father and he wanted it to be on better terms than their previous meeting.

"I know you wouldn't abandon me," Izar murmured. "Though, I have to admit, at the time, I believed it. I know now that it would have been a foolish decision to follow me on the run. Not only were you recovering from the attack, but you had Aiden to look out for…"

"And you come before all those," Regulus whispered fiercely in Izar's ear. "I just knew the Dark Lord would shelter you. If he hadn't, then I would have gladly followed you."

They stood in silence for a long while. Regulus continued to stroke Izar's wavy locks, pausing every once and a while to work out a knot. "Izar," Regulus began hesitantly. "Tell me you're happy."

Izar blinked across the dark room before smiling softly. "You would think I'm insane if you knew what made me happy, father." The younger pulled away, yet remained a hair's touch away from his father. "I don't necessarily know what _happy_means, but I'm content. Whether you like to believe it or not, I'm remarkably similar to the Dark Lord." Izar reached out and touched Regulus' chest lightly. "The only thing that makes us different is my sliver of humanity."

Regulus cupped Izar's fingers with his hand, a satisfied smile across his face. "Promise me you'll never lose that humanity."

Izar smiled unpleasantly, already sensing the strong auras approach their location. He had known he wouldn't have much time with his father. "I don't intend to." He stepped closer, wanting to touch as much as Regulus as possible. It was a bitter victory when Izar laid his palm across his father's unshaven cheek, caressing it. "I wanted to thank you for being with me during my hour of need. If it hadn't been for you or Sirius, I wouldn't have been able to come out of it whole."

Regulus' charcoal eyes seemed to cloud with confusion. "I'm your father. It's my duty and honor to take care of you…"

The door suddenly opened behind Izar. "You're to come with us, Black," one of the wizards drawled in boredom. "The Dark Lord has requested your captivity tonight. Tomorrow morning, you and Severus Snape will be executed. If you put up a struggle, you won't have the honor of spending the night."

Izar clenched his jaw, turning and giving the three men an once-over. "Why tomorrow?" He vaguely remembered their identities. They were of Second Tier and also wanted criminals. They stayed in the base along with all the other fugitives.

The silver-haired man assessed Izar coolly. "To make an example out of them, of course. Why waste a perfectly good execution if there isn't an audience?"

Izar gave a sarcastic chuckle. "Of _course,_how silly of me." He reached behind him and encircled his father's wrist with quick reflexes. The man was about to pull out his wand, no doubt creating chaos with his actions. Turning, Izar caught Regulus' eye. "Just lay low," he whispered. "I'll find a way to get you and Snape out of this."

Regulus' mouth hardened. "I was well aware of what would happen when I came here, Izar. I'm willing to take the chance."

"Well _I'm_not." Izar clenched his teeth, hissing lethally at his father. "Trust me." Only when Izar saw a reluctant resolve in Regulus' eyes did he release his father's wrist. Thankfully, the man's stubborn pride was cooled today, for Regulus remained motionless.

Legs stiff, Izar swept out of the room, grudgingly leaving his father standing alone. Before he disappeared completely, Izar grabbed the 'ring-leader's' collar. "If I hear of any physical damage done to him before his execution, I _will_come hunt you down personally and kill you. Consequences be damned. You hear me?" Sometimes, it was exhilarating using his ranking in the army. They had no choice but to comply to his commands if they did not inflict with the Dark Lord's orders.

The Death Eater grunted in disdain before spitting at Izar's feet. "Got it, your highness."

Izar set down the Death Eater and swept away. His mood was dark as he entered the Dark Lord's chambers. "You're a _bastard_," Izar spat when he caught sight of the Dark Lord. The man was sitting calmly at the breakfast table, acting as if he hadn't left the room and ordered Regulus' capture.

"I'm well aware of that," Voldemort commented airily. The Dark Lord turned the page of the _Daily Prophet._He only looked up when Izar walked past. "You need to sit and eat."

There was a reason why Voldemort was waiting until tomorrow to kill Regulus and Snape. And Izar knew exactly the reason. He needed time and privacy to plan his necessary steps in order to make good on the Dark Lord's challenge.

"You can shove those eggs up your arse. I'm taking a shower." Before Izar entered the bathroom, he turned and gave Voldemort a pointed look. "And that is not an invitation." Slamming the door on a smirking Dark Lord, Izar turned and allowed his mind to run possible scenarios and plans.

This was one challenge he couldn't afford to lose.

**{Death of Today}**

_He knew he was dreaming. When was the last time he saw such endless white? The last time he was surrounded and swallowed by white was when he laid in the snow with Sirius' corpse. But it was not cold here, it was not windy, and there was no prone figure of his uncle._

_Izar's bare feet slapped the white ground. Beneath his feet, it was smooth and glossy. It had to be marble of some sort._

_How pointless. Izar pocketed his hands in his black cloak as he continued to walk. He didn't know how long he had been walking, but finally, he saw a figure up ahead. It was small and short, incredibly petite. Whomever it was must have been a child or a young woman. Izar squinted, slowing his walk as he came within arm's reach. His earlier assumption about it being a child was correct. The boy wore all white, washing out his pale skin and contrasting harshly against the dark hair._

_Suddenly, the boy turned and Izar blinked. "Aiden?"_

_The boy's lips parted in a bright smile, but it dimmed dramatically in the next moment. The pure-blood adoption ring Regulus was using on Aiden seemed to be working. The boy's light hair was darkening considerably and his rounded features were slowly sharpening. He was beginning to look like a mixture of Sirius and Regulus._

_Aiden was silent as he reached his fingers up toward Izar and the older wizard reluctantly bowed at his waist. With caution, Izar watched Aiden's eyes turn milky white. Before he could lean away from the boy, the small index finger pressed between his eyes— blocking out his own eyesight._

_Everything was clouded white again. But just as Izar blinked away the fuzziness, he was seized by flashes of images. It appeared choppy, as if Aiden was struggling to hold the vision and dream together in his inexperience._

_The beginning of the vision was so fast, so unrecognizable, that Izar couldn't get anything other than the image of trees surrounding him and an old shack at his back._

_In the next flash, Izar could decipher clearly. It showed Voldemort sitting in an empty room. The man's crimson eyes were oddly disoriented as they stared across the room at nothing in particular. Within seconds, the face morphed into an expression of potent sorrow. The Dark Lord gave a roar of desperation as he clutched his face with a single hand. In his opposite hand, his fingers became lax and a piece of metal hit the ground. The object rolled across the uneven floor and came to a stop. Izar noticed it was the Gaunt ring—the Resurrection Stone._

_No matter how long Izar was frozen at the show of emotion, he was forced away from the vision and on to another. Voldemort stood over a cauldron, his face clear of any emotion, save for wicked determination. Though, Izar noticed he wasn't paying attention to the cauldron, but to the woman standing across from him. It was Bellatrix. Izar watched as she seemed to stare hesitantly in the goblet in her hand. "Drink it," Voldemort ordered with a cold hiss. Never one to displease her Lord, Bellatrix downed the potion. The goblet crashed to the floor not long before Bellatrix followed suit. The room was a static of Dark Magic as it groaned and laughed gleefully._

_White clouded Izar's vision before it cleared and showed him Bellatrix once again. This time, her stomach was heavy with child. Seeing this, Izar could only go cold at the sight of it. He watched in frozen horror as Voldemort kneeled before her, pressing his fingers against the pregnant belly. "Is it him? Did it work?" she exclaimed in deranged hope. Voldemort smiled thinly in response. The smile should have sent any man running, but it seemed to melt away the dark shadows across the Dark Lord's face. "How can you tell?" Bellatrix pestered._

_Before Izar could hear a response, he was thrust forcibly in another vision. Screams pierced the room and Izar took a step back when he saw Bellatrix giving birth. Her face contorted once more as she pushed. A moment later, her screams were muted forever as another took its place. Izar could only stare in disbelief as Voldemort held the squirming newborn up to his face, inhaling lovingly. The man's hand cradled the fragile neck protectively as the other held the squirming back. "Izar… welcome back, my child," Voldemort whispered in greeting. The Dark Lord nuzzled his face against the crying child, never looking as happy as he did at that moment._

_When the last vision came forward, Izar didn't even fight the whiteness that slowly cleared his eyesight. Sitting across from him, he could see an exact replica of himself. Only, this Izar was years younger. He appeared to be twelve, thirteen at the latest. And he was human. There was sharp intelligence and familiarity in this Izar's eyes as he moved a bishop on the chess board. Yet, there was also a challenging spark in the green and charcoal eyes as he looked across the table at the smirking Dark Lord. "Check Mate."_

_The finger pressing between his eyes removed itself and Izar was left trembling, staring into the dark eyes of Aiden. "Why?" Izar shuddered. "Why would you show me that?"_

_A childish smile crossed the boy's face. "You have to accept it," Aiden spoke deeply. The voice seemed to vibrate through the walls of his dream, weighing heavily with wisdom a child his age should never possess. "He loves you."_

_Izar reared back, angry. "You think that is_love_? Resurrecting someone from the dead is not_love_. It's torture!"_

"_Your memories from your past life will be intact. It will be like you were never gone in the first place," Aiden rasped. "You will be angry at first, but you'll accept it. You must accept it."_

And then, Izar woke. His body was trembling madly, most likely waking Voldemort up in the process. Turning his head, he locked eyes with watchful and pensive crimson. The Dark Lord did not speak or move as Izar got out of bed and escaped into the bathroom.

After shutting the door behind him, Izar slumped against the vanity, staring at his reflection. No. This couldn't happen. Was… had it been real? Had Aiden really appeared to him in the dream world? Could Seer travel through reality and contact another? It was something to check up on and he would need to do so immediately without rousing Voldemort's suspicions even more than he already had. But… what if it was real?

Izar stared at his dilated eyes in the mirror. What then?

He gave an unhinged whimper, throwing his head back down and staring at the basin. What was he more upset over? The fact he would die or that Voldemort would resurrect him?

Of course it was the latter. It was the latter, without a doubt. And yet, there was still a weight settling in Izar's stomach at the thought of dying. He was frightened. Any normal person would be frightened when they learned they were going to die. It was the unknown and it was completely out of everyone's control. Save for Tom Riddle. The resurrection terrified him even more than the death. What would death be like? It might feel wonderful, a paradise. And it would all be ripped from him when Voldemort resurrected him. Or… it might be nothingness, a comfortable void. Whatever the afterlife was like, Izar knew that being reborn would feel painful.

He shuddered, closing his eyes against the alien feeling of helplessness and vulnerability. It was a rarity when he had to deal with emotions that were for the weak. But a situation like this was understandable to feel something so… so raw. It was even more powerful due to the fact that it would be happening relatively soon. In the visions, Bellatrix didn't look a day over what she did currently. And that meant Izar had little time to act.

_Love._

Love. Izar issued a cold laugh. Aiden was just a child. How could the boy understand something so complicated?

And yet, that made him pause. Could the Dark Lord truly love? Or just feel a burning possessiveness and sense of ownership? It was true they had a relationship and the Dark Lord felt insecure about it. But surely the man did not _love_Izar. If it was love, the Dark Lord would leave Izar dead. He would respect Izar's wishes not to be resurrected.

Izar clenched his teeth past the pain and stark terror. His mind replayed the image of Voldemort sitting so forlornly in the room, his face twisting out of loss and desperation.

He pushed the memory away, opening his eyes to end the vision. He couldn't think about Voldemort in this. He had to think for himself. If he began thinking about the Dark Lord, Izar would just become more confused and frightened. At the moment, that was the last thing he wanted to be. He had to focus on something else… something…

Like a challenge.

Izar held his trembling body still as he stared at the faucet in surprise. Yes. He could think of this as a challenge. Even if Voldemort did not know about it, Izar could conjure up the idea that the Dark Lord _did_ know and they were competing against one another. Voldemort would be trying to make plans of resurrecting Izar and Izar would be trying to prevent the resurrection. Brilliant.

"Brilliant," Izar whispered to himself. His mind slowly adapted to the new line of motivation. He no longer thought about the vision he witnessed and he no longer thought of the emotions that would accompany this plan. Right now, his mind was focused on winning this challenge and nothing else. This challenge was the biggest competition he had yet. Even setting Reuglus and Snape free tomorrow would be nothing compared to this.

And it all was so _easy_. It was the easiest challenge, but also the most important to win. All he had to do was destroy the Gaunt ring. Sure, there were other rituals that claimed to resurrect. But those were incredibly Dark and they had ill side-affects. Voldemort wouldn't take the chance on them. He would use the Resurrection Stone and his invented ritual that Izar was certain he would invent later on.

Next to him, the door opened and a shirtless Dark Lord swooped inside. The man's bare feet slapped at the floor, reminding Izar about the dream he just had. He reprimanded himself, pushing that memory away. He had to look at this from an intellect point-of-view, emotions and feelings excluded. He needed to learn about the Seer and their abilities and he also needed to destroy the Gaunt ring without Voldemort's knowledge.

Arms encircled Izar's torso, pulling him against an equally naked and thin chest. "I hope you aren't putting your scheme in motion right now regarding your father's escape. If you were, I would be most disappointed." It was said lightly, almost teasingly with an undertone of concern.

Izar smiled thinly, leaning his head against the naked chest and staring up at Voldemort's face. He reached up and ran his fingers down the man's jawline. "I'm still angry with you, you know." He pulled himself from the Dark Lord's arms and made his way back to the bedroom. "Speak to me again when Regulus is not in captivity."

The Black heir grabbed the cloak lining the wall. As he made a move to put it on, he noticed the weight in the pocket. Pausing, he stuck his hand inside, feeling the unopened envelope. He suddenly remembered Lily's letter she sent him. Regulus had given Izar the letter when he told him she was dropping the custody battle. This cloak had been residing in Voldemort's chambers for several weeks now, turning cold with Izar's lack of use. After all, he had been banned from the base for a month after Regulus' attack at France… he had forgotten all about it.

"You're staying here," Voldemort commanded from the bed. "You need to sleep and gain your energy back from the torture you went through."

Izar hesitated before hanging the cloak back up and making his way back to the Dark Lord. "It's endearing you care so much." He climbed into bed, a good few feet away from the other man. "But we both know you only want me here so you can keep an eye on me."

The Dark Lord only wrapped an arm around Izar in response.

**{Death of Today}**

His painful state of arousal did little to assist his stealth. Nevertheless, he was silent as he swept down the corridor and toward the library where his prey was currently residing. Coming to a rest within the thick shadows of the entrance, Voldemort stared steadily at the figure lounging at the table. The sight made the ache between his legs only harden in response. Then again, this child before him had a knack for igniting primitive emotions in even the most callous man.

Voldemort curled his lip upward. The boy was aware of his presence, but feigned indifference as he set aside a book and picked up another. The Dark Lord noted the position of the abandoned book. Izar tossed it aside as if it were an inconvenience, something he was finished reading. But Voldemort was no fool. He knew the boy didn't want him to take notice of the subject he was researching.

"Yes?" Izar drawled in irritation, barely sparing Voldemort a glance. Vibrant green eyes assessed him before turning away to place another book on top of the original discarded one.

It was good show, especially when the child rifled through the other stacks of books before grabbing one and leaning back in a relaxed position. A ruse that obvious could fool most men, but Voldemort found himself far more superior to 'most men'.

"I've come to congratulate you on your… remarkable success," Voldemort whispered. He entered the small library, pulled forward by the child's natural allurement. "Really, how did you manage to get your father and his lover out of the base, all the while, sitting here innocently?"

He had taken Black's captivity personally by constructing his own runes and his own wards around the condemned wizard. No one had _ever_snuck past his spellwork like Izar had. It shouldn't have surprised him and it hadn't. It only infuriated him to the point of thick arousal and the need to _claim_and possess. His fingers clenched tightly at his sides in the face of Izar's blank expression, but otherwise, he remained deadpan.

"Sitting here innocently?" Izar repeated as if it were foreign to him. The elfin face peered up at Voldemort from behind the book. "I've been busy creating another Horcrux." The boy thrust his chin in the direction of a familiar gold cup. The cup sang seductively with an undertone of cruel laughter. "One of your men must have assisted Regulus and Snape out of the base, because I have better things to do." Izar then returned to his book, ignoring the hovering Dark Lord hovering.

Despite the boy's refusal to become a Lord, Voldemort saw the ripe potential. How could he not? He had been a direct influence on the boy's life before he turned fifteen. Yet, there was one glaring weakness. The boy's political maneuvers. At the moment, Izar relied on his charm, intelligence, and arrogance to get what he wanted. Granted, many fools were led by their hormones and viewed Izar's celestial appearance as a godly attribution. In turn, Izar found success in this technique and found little use practicing the complexity that is political dancing.

Because of weakness, Voldemort knew their next phase of their immortality would be spent in a political scene. Perhaps there would be no battles, no wars, but there would be political competition in order to shape Izar accordingly. Once again, Izar would be the student and he would be the successor. In fact, it would be many years before Voldemort found Izar suited enough to fly solo—to take the reins. And by that time, Voldemort was unsure he would even want to unhook his claws from his child.

Voldemort remained watching the wizard hungrily, knowing the boy wasn't finished speaking yet.

"I'm not going to play daft with you," Izar continued. "I knew there was a reason you scheduled Regulus' and Severus' execution the next day. You _wanted_me to help them escape. You wanted to challenge me with your… spellwork." The boy gave a coy smile. "It's a bit sweet, really. You didn't want to kill them off, did you?" Izar glanced back down at his book.

It should have made him furious that Black and Snape weren't punished, but now that the enemy knew of Izar's immortality, it was a mute and old subject. As long as it did not go public, the boy could handle the old fool's attempts on his life. Voldemort would be hovering close by, ready to intervene if his protection was required.

Though, at the present, Voldemort decided it was past the time to take what he wanted. But what fun would that be if he didn't play first?

The Dark Lord slowly circled Izar's chair and moved closer to the original disposed book. While his body moved in said direction, his eyes and attention were engrossed on the lithe body in front of him. He blew lightly across the exposed neck of his lover, inching around the chair. He chuckled eagerly when he spied the boy's shoulders tighten marginally as Voldemort closed in on the book.

It was remarkable how well he could read his child. And even more so, at how engrossed he was with said child.

Voldemort ran a fingernail down Izar's turned cheek as the boy fabricated nonchalance. Inside, Voldemort was sure the boy was conjuring ways to manipulate him away from the book. "_My child_," he cooed. He pitied the boy at times. A brilliant mind like Izar was known from the inside out by a Dark Lord. When the boy hid things, it only took Voldemort one glance to uncover them.

Like now. When he had studied the boy from the entrance to the library, Voldemort had already noticed the absent Black Heir ring from the boy's hand. Izar most likely parted ways with his father for the last time this morning. It certainly explained the dark shadows in the expressive eyes, but Voldemort knew there was more to Izar's current distraction. It wasn't just his father. Could it have something to do with the book the boy was hiding?

He knew, without a doubt, it was connected with last night's episode.

Never one to displease, Izar lunged and took Voldemort's face in his hands. "You're an arrogant bastard," the boy spat before kissing him.

Sex as ways to distract? It was juvenile of Izar, yet it could have worked if the boy wasn't so determined to hide things from him. Regrettably, Voldemort pulled away and knotted his fingers in the silky mass of waves. "I've been patient enough," Voldemort growled. He tugged the boy forward and over the desk, successfully knocking the books to the ground. He was split between admiring a bent-over Izar and the books next to him.

Seething, he placed his throbbing erection against the propped up arse and began grinding ruthlessly, all the while holding Izar's head down. He ignored the words of fierce protest from his lover and glanced at the volumes. His eye automatically caught the half-covered tome about Seer.

_Seer._

Voldemort removed his hand from Izar's head and grabbed the boy's slim hips before humping him. Fury and arousal intermixed as he took his aggression out on the wizard in front of him. He had a perfectly good idea what was going on with his foolish child.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar grimaced as waves of arousal burned his stomach. It was such a crude and subservient position to be aroused in— bent over a desk and having a scheming Dark Lord humping his clothed arse. Better yet, the door to the library was wide open for viewers to stumble across their current situation.

The younger wizard gripped the table in order to anchor himself as the dry thrusting became almost brutal. He clenched his teeth, glaring at the wall across from him. This certainly wasn't the position he wanted. In fact, they had a _deal_that Izar would top the next time they had sex. Though, was this even sex?

"Getting off by something as innocent as dry humping, Tom?" Izar poked.

He got his answer as hands danced up his legs and underneath his cloak before tugging down his pants. Izar gave a sound of disbelief as Voldemort lifted his own cloak and pressed his hard member against his bare arse. The man didn't get too far, for Izar pushed himself into a standing position and elbowed Voldemort in the stomach. Of course it didn't have the desired affect Izar wanted, but he was able to turn himself away from the assault and face the man toe to toe.

**Deleted Lemon**

_{End of lemon}_

He closed his eyes, enjoying the human-like reaction coming from Voldemort as the man trembled in after-pleasure. The hands clutching at him refused to loosen and for once, Izar found he was content with that.

A nose nudged his cheek, intentionally drawing Izar up for another kiss. This whole situation seemed so… tender… far different then their earlier exchanges. While Izar enjoyed a physical battle during foreplay, he also found he enjoy this as well.

Without any remorse, he kissed the Dark Lord back, reaching up and stroking the man's hair that escaped from its confinements. He opened his eyes a sliver, studying the man's raw expression. And suddenly, he was reminded vividly of the vision he had last night. Could he really curse Voldemort to an eternity without him? Could he ignore the man's _feelings_for him and stab him in the back? Was this… did the man actually _love_?

Izar was painfully aware of the Gaunt ring. It all but burned the back of Izar's neck, cruelly reminding him of fate. It wasn't as if Izar was truly betraying Voldemort, was it? He was just destroying the Resurrection Stone; it had nothing to do with betrayal.

The Black heir forcibly pushed the thoughts and feelings away before burying his face back in the Dark Lord's neck.

**{Death of Today}**

"We need to leave," the dry voice commanded from the doorway.

Regulus stared blankly at the ring in his palm before turning an equally numb glance in the direction of the entrance. Severus stood stiffly with Aiden standing next to him. They both had a trunk next to them, indicating that they were done packing. Regulus stared at Aiden's perplexed expression before studying Severus' impassive eyes.

He looked away, unable to force himself close to Severus at the moment. While Izar claimed he did not hate Snape for going to Dumbledore about his immortality, Regulus couldn't think the same way. At least not now. Izar was the most important thing to him and Severus had intentionally put his son in harm's way. The man had gone inside Regulus' head and took with him information that was meant to remain bundled away. It was an invasion, a mere assault.

Even if Severus had intended to save Regulus from Voldemort, it hadn't worked. It just made everything messier, more complicated and dangerous. And Severus should have known by now, that Regulus would always lay down his life before he allowed harm to come to his son. And to not even discuss this with him… Severus was in the wrong. And Regulus didn't know how long it would take to forgive the man he came to love.

Regulus clutched the Black heirloom, bringing his fist to his forehead. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily. It was always difficult to come to terms that his son was not a child. When Regulus was a boy at Hogwarts, fresh from graduation, he had dreamed of a family—a son. Ironic that he was given a full-fledged adult child that didn't need his father any more than he needed his mother. While there were times Izar showed signs of vulnerability, it wasn't often and Regulus was often left clueless as how to act with a grown son.

It was even harder to accept that a cruel Dark Lord had a bigger part in his son's life than Regulus did.

During his recovery, he had bitterly accepted that Izar was a Dark Wizard and inherited a great deal of the Black insanity. Izar was more in tuned with the Dark, he was able to control it skillfully whereas others only used it when necessary. He was also already a lover… to a Dark Lord. And today, Regulus had come to understand that Izar _was_happy about it and hadn't been manipulated into the role. He was happy being with the Dark Lord.

Merlin only knew why…

"I'm not leaving," Regulus murmured in resolve. He clutched the ring Izar had given back. This morning's rescue had happened so quickly. Regulus barely comprehended that he was following Izar and Severus out of the maze-like corridors and out of the Dark Lord's base.

They had argued over the ring. It seemed like such a foolish thing to argue over as means of farewell. Izar wanted to give him the Black Heir ring, while Regulus crossly refused. They hadn't had enough time to properly part ways and Regulus left, thinking he had won in terms of Izar keeping the ring. Only, when he arrived home, he discovered the ring in his pocket.

He stared at the Black heirloom, refusing to believe this was Izar's final goodbye.

"You cannot keep changing your mind," Severus reasoned darkly.

"I have _never_changed my mind about my son, Severus," Regulus hissed back, mindful to keep some of his temper in check with Aiden nearby. "My loyalty will always be to my family and the Dark. Just because I don't follow the Dark Lord doesn't mean I cannot feel regret over leaving Izar behind."

The tall potion's master pressed his lips together thinly. "Izar jeopardized a great deal by assisting us this morning. You cannot return the favor by staying in Britain, more particularly, you cannot return to him. It is selfish of you."

"I'm being forced into hiding by Voldemort once again," Regulus muttered more to himself than Severus. "I'm unsure if I can live that life once again. And Aiden…" his charcoal eyes swept toward the boy. Aiden was always a good child. It was difficult for Regulus to heal the boy's childhood wounds while dealing with his own pitiful life. But he tried to the best of his ability, simply because Izar asked him to. "Aiden cannot experience life on the run."

"Then you must prepare yourself for death. The Dark Lord will surely come for you."

"He won't," a quiet voice broke the grim conversation. "As long as you keep your silence and distance, the red-eyed man won't come after you."

There were times when Regulus found himself unnerved by the young child. For the most part, Aiden was a mere child who enjoyed discovering the life of magic and playing with toys. But there were also times when the boy seemed to harbor an excessive amount of wisdom any adult would envy.

Regulus sighed, looking back down at the ring on his palm. "I understand that Izar will need to move on without me, and that time most likely already came. But I told him I would never abandon him. Even if it's from a distance, without his knowledge, I will feel better being a silent observer than a runaway coward." Regulus closed his fingers over the ring. "You are free to do what you want, Severus. But I'm staying here."

**{Death of Today}**

Izar hunched over the library table, grunting as pure exhaustion flooded his system. The simple diary was now transferred into the faux Horcrux the Light Army would hunt after. All these Horcruxes led up to the main event. Dumbledore. The Dark Lord was sure that the Gaunt ring would lure Dumbledore out of hiding and force the Headmaster to destroy it himself. These other 'Horcruxes' were just meant to leave a breadcrumb trail.

He tapped his wand against the table, making the diary vanish and transport to its intended location. Lucius would have possession of it now, just as Izar discussed with the blond. The man would know what to do with it…

Surveying the wand in his hand, he found himself a bit forlorn over losing his original Thestral wand. The Ministry still had it, but luckily, Izar had his Phoenix wand as reserve. Much to his surprise, the brother wand to Voldemort felt far more comfortable in his hand than the Thestral had. The Phoenix wand must be a better fit for him now than his old one. He remembered feeling similar when he had 'stolen' it from Ollivander and used it to manipulate the Dark Mark.

Izar grunted again as he fell to the floor, his vision blurry. He had constructed the rest of the Horcruxes today. Bellatrix was on the way to deposit the gold cup while the diary was with Lucius. All that was left was the… _ring._

The lithe wizard leaned his head against the ground, glaring up at the ceiling. He needed a shower. Voldemort's seed was still inside him and it was creeping down his legs. While he had cast a cleaning charm on himself and put his pants back on, the charm didn't reach all the way up _there_.

"You're disgusting, Black," Izar whispered to himself. He placed a hand over his face, intending to sleep right here…

Suddenly, as if fate had it against him, there was a loud explosion from further down the base. The entire building shook and Izar stared between his fingers. Another explosion sounded, this time, much closer to his position.

_Bloody hell_. They were under an attack.


	64. Part II Chapter 32

{**Notes**} Thanks everyone for your reviews, they mean a lot to me ;) Also, thanks to _Contaku_ for the Fan Art! I uploaded it with the others if you want to go see it.

And no, this is not the last chapter :D It also holds many grammar mistakes. It's late and I have early class tomorrow. I didn't take much time to reread it.

**Chapter Thirty Two**

Lucius sat pompously on the ornate chair. His hands were cupped politely on top the solid table as he watched the clock tick across from him. Blond hair was effortlessly parted to the side, falling to his shoulders in silky straight strands. The black and silver robes decorating his body appeared finely spun with crushed velvet residing at the hems. Next to him, standing at the railing, Narcissa matched his patient and cool expression. Her feminine and lean body leaned against the sculptured banister, radiating an uncanny resemblance to the marble statues in the gardens.

"Will they will come?" Narcissa inquired softly.

"If Izar claims they will. They will," Lucius responded in a raspy whisper.

While he had recovered from Moody's attack, his deformity had not. He was unable to wear glamours on his face just yet, for they would react toxically with the healing charms. The thick and ugly scar ran from his lips down to his groin. If he moved too quickly, he would stretch the healing skin. And when he spoke, it was no better. In order to avoid discomfort, Lucius had to whisper or murmur whenever someone addressed him.

It was a disability, but it was also a vivid reminder that he would have died that day if it hadn't been for Izar.

"Is this wise?" Narcissa pressed. "Abandoning the Manor—"

"The Manor will be fine without us, Narcissa." Lucius tapped his fingertips against the table, continuing to look forward. "As soon as we leave, they will find themselves unwelcomed by the Manor's wards. It will be here when the war is over."

Her brooding silence did not bode well for Lucius' steady confidence.

"Not only about the Manor, Lucius, but our allegiance. Are you sure we should remain with the Dark Lord? While his aspirations are grand, the Light Army has gained velocity. And Draco is enamored with that school of his; he is far too young to make decisions like this."

Lucius stared at the clock in growing displeasure. "Draco is old enough to shape his own path in life, Cissy." He caressed the wood, smiling gently. "My life belongs to Izar now. I follow where he wishes to lead me. Malfoy's do not go back on their vows." Cold silver eyes swept formally to where she stood. "And I _know _Black's don't either."

Narcissa pushed away from the banister as soon as the wards whirled in alarm and the front door opened. Lucius watched her calmly from the corner of his eye, taking deep inhales to compose himself. It appeared as if his guests would arrive, right on Izar's schedule.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, we have a warrant to search your property. If the evidence reveals to be present, you are under arrest," Shacklebolt announced his presence, stalking inside the manor with a team of Aurors behind him.

Lucius cocked his head to the side, staring at the group with barely hidden contempt. Searching the group, his sharp eyes settled on the man standing next to Shacklebolt. Alastor Moody grunted as he came into position at the front of the team, his beady blue eyes surveying Lucius in blatant repugnance. Lucius met that expression with superior nonchalance. Only his eyes delivered the cold promise of vengeance. Then again, he wouldn't be surprised if the mindless Auror was oblivious to Lucius' fevered determination.

Moody grunted, a sneer marring the unblemished face. When Lucius was through with the man, it wouldn't be so flawless.

"I see you somehow managed to wiggle yourself away from your rightful spot in the Malfoy grave," Moody growled.

Lucius stared at him coolly before turning his attention on Shacklebolt. "What is it that you're… searching for?" Blond eyebrows rose to his hairline in question.

"If we find it, you'll be the first to know." Shacklebolt motioned for his team to follow him down the steps of the manor.

Lucius took special care watching as they retreated down the staircase. It was going exactly as Izar had planned. Even to the point of frightening accuracy. They arrived at the indicated time, bringing with them a team of Aurors that were, indeed, also allied with the Order. The ones that were in the Order followed Moody and Shacklebolt down the stairs, already experts in the field of searching for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes.

And Lucius knew that the diary Izar sent him was the Dark Lord's Horcrux. Or, a fake Horcrux. Izar indicated that they were sprinkling fake Horcruxes for the Light Wizards to hunt. It was an ingenious plan. Let the lot think that they were slowly killing the Dark Lord, but in reality, he had all his Horcruxes carefully hidden. The Dark Lord wouldn't be so stupid to place his Horcruxes for others to find them.

Lucius also knew that Izar had trusted him with this valuable information. The blond wizard reassured the Black heir that he wouldn't tell a soul unless instructed to do so. He consented to a mind barrier, a fence against any Legilimens who forced their way inside his head to find any information on the Horcruxes. They would only find a blurry blockade in their quest for answers.

"I think it may be time, Cissy." Lucius stood up slowly from his position in the chair. It would not do for the Aurors who stayed behind to stun him before they could get away.

"Time for what, my dear?" Narcissa inquired, playing her part beautifully. She smiled softly, reaching out a hand to assist Lucius as he stood.

"My medication. The dressing on the wound should also be replaced." Lucius positioned a hand over his robes where the long lesion sat, feigning fatigue. "I'm afraid we may have to do so quickly, for Azkaban will not take my condition seriously."

The Aurors snickered behind him, the fools that they were. Izar had single-handedly killed twenty three Aurors yesterday in his escape of the Ministry. From what Lucius knew, Tom Marvolo Riddle was currently meeting with the press to dance his way in the public's good graces. Undoubtedly, Undersecretary Riddle was already a favorite among the public, but there needed to be more _push _before Tom Riddle would be elected as the new Minister and allowed the change society from the inside out.

The Ministry had been exploited by a sixteen-year-old. Riddle would have a field day picking apart Scrimgeour's lack of ability to protect not only the people of Britain but also his own powerhouse. Lucius knew the Dark Lord was nearing his goal. The public was so close to booting Rufus Scrimgeour from office, but there needed to be larger momentum to fuel their anger. And Lucius wondered what the Dark Lord… _or_ Izar had in mind.

Before he had a chance to consider the options, there was a tremble of magic coming from downstairs. The Aurors standing near the blond couple could only ponder at the sudden explosion, their attention leaving Lucius and his wife just briefly. But Izar had urged Lucius to take that marginal second and flee.

With a heavy heart, Lucius looped his arm around Narcissa and they Disapparated from their home.

**{Death of Today}**

He just wanted a damn shower… really… was that too much to ask?

Izar stared at the flaming ceiling, wondering why his life was so… so fucked up. "Feel free to come down here. Anytime, really," he called to an empty room. "I'll even take a chance on you, Rufus. Or you, Albus."

He was presently hiding underneath the library table where Voldemort and he had… coupled earlier this morning. Around him, the shelves of books had self-destructed in time of the attack. Voldemort had charmed a selected few items and objects to self-destruct if there was ever a breach of security. That way, his enemies wouldn't get their hands on anything he once possessed. Other objects, the most important things, were charmed to transport elsewhere for safekeeping. It was bittersweet to watch everything go up in flames and knowing that the library wasn't the only room affected by the break-in.

From what Izar could hear, the Light Army was mingling near the front of the base and slowly disappearing. They were probably expecting Voldemort's forces to be lined up inside the base and ready to battle. Except, there were only a few Death Eaters present at the moment, and all of them were fugitives to the law. They most likely already Disapparated when the Aurors attacked, finding no reason to stay behind.

The Dark Lord wasn't even present to welcome them to his base. The man was currently out mingling with the press as his other half, Tom Riddle. Seeing his absence, Izar had decided to make the second Horcrux with Lucius' assistance despite Voldemort's anticipated disproval. Izar hadn't wanted Voldemort to hover around him when he made the Horcrux. He hated being mothered, especially by the Dark Lord.

He realized that his defiance really didn't get him anywhere this time. All it got him was a weakened body and depleted magic in the face of destruction. Well, if Lucius succeeded, Izar also accomplished another major death within Dumbledore's Order.

Currently, Izar was using all his energy to stay conscious, but other than that, he couldn't do anything else. He couldn't Disapparate, he couldn't construct a Port-key, and he couldn't put out the flames around him. Izar clenched his jaw, glaring up at the underbelly of the table. His stomach muscles clenched as he sat up and he ignored how the world spun. He didn't want to die this way. He hadn't even _touched _the Gaunt ring as of yet. And if he wanted to destroy it, he would have to survive the burning inferno around him.

Getting on his hands in knees, Izar crawled out from underneath the table and made his way carefully and slowly toward the exit. His limbs cried in protest, begging him to stop and rest.

Izar pressed his lips together before bursting out in laughter as he fell on his belly, unable to go any further. He stared sideways at the flames, mentally calculating the time it would take to consume him. Would he even die if he was burned?

Well, he _was_ eager to find out.

**{Death of Today}**

"… do you think the Dark Lord was present?" Narcissa breathed next to Lucius, holding her neck in a gesture of vulnerability. Though, her expression was hard as she stared at the base currently up in flames. "Bellatrix as well?"

"The Dark Lord is still scheduled to be at his press conference," Lucius responded, knowing her first inquiry wasn't asked out of concern for the Dark Lord, but concern for them and their recent run from the law. As for the second request, he knew his wife held a surprising amount of admiration for her sister. "As for Bellatrix, let's hope she had enough sense to run with the others."

Lucius carefully concealed his presence within the thick forestry. He watched coolly as the Aurors and Order members slowly emerged from the base, conversing with one another before steadily leaving the scene. The wards around the base were torn and ripped apart due to the Light's forced entry. While the Dark Lord built the wards himself, there were trained professionals that dealt with wards and their properties. It didn't surprise Lucius that they were able to force their way, albeit sloppily, past the man's spellwork.

His only concern was the Dark Lord's current plan of action. By now, Tom Riddle would be alerted by the break-in. What would the Dark Lord do in response? Where would he bring his army?

"_Point me_, Bellatrix Lestrange!" Narcissa whispered fiercely, her wand settled in her palm.

Lucius watched from the corner of his eye as her wand spun north-east, a good distance left of the base. Next to him, Narcissa sighed softly, tightening her fingers over her wand before allowing them to relax. "_Point me, _Izar Black!"

Lucius blinked, pondering why Narcissa would consider tracking Izar. The boy was likely the first one out of the base or…

He paled when he watched the wand continued to circle, as if it were confused which direction to turn before it finally came to a stop. Her wand was pointing directly at the base, indicating the boy was still inside. Impossible. Izar would never be caught behind.

Suddenly, a loud _crack _sounded beside Lucius. He could barely track the cloaked figure as it jogged past the two blonds and toward the base. The only characteristic that made the figure identifiable was the crackling and poignant magic surrounding the man. Lucius often found himself feeling sorry for Izar and his gift of magic-sensitivity. If normal wizards and witches could sense the Dark Lord's magic, Lucius could only imagine what a magic-sensitive would feel to be constantly surrounded by someone of Voldemort's caliber.

Lucius only hesitated long enough to pull out his wand before he followed at the Dark Lord's heels. He didn't bother telling Narcissa to stay behind and keep hidden. It would have been an insult to both of them. He would never find a suitable wife in a woman who couldn't defend herself properly. Narcissa, while being the most level-headed Black out of the bunch, was still a force to be reckoned with. When there was something worth fighting for, Narcissa grew almost vicious in her attacks.

Ahead, the Dark Lord didn't even falter as a couple Aurors came running toward him. With a wave of the Dark Wizard's wand, all three of them were brutally gutted. They fell to their knees as Voldemort passed, the man never losing stride. His long black cloak snapped and flowed behind him, rivaling the appearance of approaching storm clouds. Lucius could only admire as the man phased through the flames and into the base.

The Aurors and Order members who were left behind were barely a concern for Lucius as the Dark Lord took care of any human standing in their way. The blood and gore was explicit, but Lucius wasn't a veteran Death Eater just as a result of loyalty. He was experienced in the finer art of human torture. Though, he was envious at how quick the Dark Lord slaughtered his enemies.

"Did the boy send you the diary?"

Lucius, startled at the sudden inquiry, took a moment to answer. "Yes, My Lord. He discussed it with me earlier this morning. He single-handedly manipulated Dumbledore's group to the Manor by creating a falsified owl through post."

Studying the man's stiffening shoulders, Lucius wondered if he was supposed to keep Izar's plot a secret. It was times like these when Lucius grew bemused at Izar and the Dark Lord's relationship. He knew it was a sexual relationship, something he was _most _pleased with. Not only because Lucius knew something the other Death Eaters did not, but because two powerful men like Izar and the Dark Lord were enticing to watch interact. However, he pondered on the depth of it.

Obviously, they hid their emotions well. But if Izar could easily compose things behind the Dark Lord's back without punishment, then their… relationship was based on more than just sex. An interesting notion, Lucius thought as he followed the man further down the corridor.

His line of thinking brought him to a complex question. Did his loyalty lean more heavily toward Izar or the Dark Lord? He owed his life to Izar, and yet, he owed his undying loyalty to the Dark Lord. For now, he was content that the two wizards were on the same side.

Fascinating… A part of Lucius pondered on a distant future. What _if _they were on different sides of the battlefield or if they were two Lords that had their separate armies but were both Dark? He amused himself with debating who would be the better Lord. Both Izar and Lord Voldemort had their own weaknesses and strengths.

Izar was not on the same power-level as Lord Voldemort, he never would be, and he certainly wasn't as experienced as the older wizard. Their ages varied from sixteen to… seventy? However, Izar had a prodigy mind. He _was _smarter, intellectually-wise, than Lord Voldemort and he learned quickly. And while the Dark Lord _controlled _the Dark, Izar also had a fond relationship with the wild magic. Or, magic in general. The boy created his own spells, his own inventions…

If it came down to who would win in a duel within a decade, Lucius was at odds. Would it be Lord Voldemort with his unnatural strength? Or would it be Izar's quick and intelligent mind?

When it came to charisma and seducing others to their cause, Lucius was also at loss of who would succeed. If he had to choose one, he would choose Izar. While Lord Voldemort had his strong aura and political charisma that appealed to many, the man was also intimidating and relied on fear to motivate most. Izar, on the other hand, was simply irresistible. The boy's sarcastic and dry tone would likely put others at arms-length, but only those who did not find it amusing. Izar had more of a… sympathetic note to him than Lord Voldemort.

"Foolish child," the Dark Lord hissed, bringing Lucius out of his musings. "He becomes extremely weakened after constructing one of those inventions."

Lucius' eyes only widened a fraction to show his surprise. It was obvious the man was speaking about the fake Horcrux. His words were ambiguous because of Narcissa's presence. Nonetheless, it didn't stop the concern that flared at the mention of Izar being weakened.

Before Lucius could ask how the Dark Lord knew Izar was still inside the base, he was forced to stop when the tall figure in front of him came to a halt. The further they ventured inside the base, the less populated it was of Aurors and more heavily populated by fire.

Lucius studied the Dark Lord, noticing the man was oddly still as he stared at the ground. Following the man's line of sight, Lucius blinked down at the two burned corpses. One was that of a human, its skull black with burnt skin and tissue hanging off its frame. The other was obviously a beheaded serpent… a serpent that typically shadowed the Dark Lord. What was it? Nagini?

The blond wizard pursed his lips, peering back up to discern the Dark Lord's mood at seeing his dead familiar. Only, the Dark Lord had already turned his heel and moved on.

It didn't take too long before they stumbled near the library. Lucius was quick to see the lithe form lying motionless on the ground. His line of vision was blocked by the Dark Lord as the man crouched down in front of the boy, casting his wand over the body. Lucius frowned, wondering why the secrecy. Was the boy dead?

"I…" a raspy voice started. "I can find my own way out of here… _anyone _but you…"

Lucius' lips twitched and he stepped away from the two wizards. He shared a look with Narcissa, not surprised to see she wasn't as humored as Lucius currently was. Trust Izar to refuse the Dark Lord's assistance.

"Fine. You wish to find your own way out, than I cannot argue," Voldemort retorted sharply. The Dark Lord, having Izar half-way in his arms, dropped the boy to the ground dangerously near the flames.

Next to Lucius, Narcissa issued a concerned gasp and moved forward to help Izar's prone body as his cloak slowly caught aflame. Before the Dark Lord could take notice of her interference, Lucius caught her around the waist, grimacing tightly as his freshly scarred wound stretched at the action. "You must trust me, Narcissa. You don't want to step between those two." He turned back to the scene, finding sick glee as he watched the two wizards stare each other down.

Izar's finely sculptured face scrunched up at the Dark Lord in both anger and determination. In turn, the Dark Lord's hooded face was bowed toward the ground in order to meet Izar's stare. By now, the flames were nearing the point of reaching Izar's body and the boy still had not made a move. Did the creation of the fake Horcruxes really take that much out of the boy? What exactly did he put into the inventions?

"Fine," Izar spat in icy defeat, his eyelids becoming heavy.

Still, the Dark Lord did not move. Lucius knew the man was waiting for more out of Izar's mouth. Despite Narcissa's cold anger at the scene, Lucius understood the complexity of it. He couldn't fault the Dark Lord's actions, simply because Izar all but asked for it as he denied the Dark Lord's assistance earlier.

"_Please_, help me…" the boy then hissed something unrecognizable to Lucius' ears, but it made the Dark Lord chuckle.

With quick reflexes, Voldemort doused the flames and swept Izar in his arms. From what Lucius could see, Izar allowed his head to fall on the Dark Lord's shoulder before falling unconscious.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord addressed the blond at his back. The man all but held the boy possessively, not allowing Lucius or Narcissa anymore glimpses at the Black heir. "Take hold of Narcissa." With that, the Dark Lord vanished with a quiet _crack_.

His parting words were met with a blank stare. But as soon as Lucius' Dark Mark began to act up, he barely had a chance to grasp Narcissa's arm before they were forced to Disapparate under the Dark Lord's discretion.

**{Death of Today}**

The fingers that pressed into his neck were warm, a far contrast to his ice-cold skin. Izar kept his eyes closed, knowing by the smell and aura of this man that it was Lucius crouching in front of him. The Dark Lord would label Izar's actions as foolish and unwise, but Izar disagreed full-heartedly. If Dumbledore already knew of Izar's creature-status, and Severus and Regulus, then Izar was perfectly alright with Lucius finding out.

Who knew how long Dumbledore would keep Izar's immortality a secret? At any rate, there were times when Izar trusted Lucius just as much as he trusted Regulus. And considering he saved the blonde's life, Lucius owed him a life debt. But Izar knew he would never have to worry about blackmailing Lucius with a life debt dangling over his head. Lucius was enamored with him. Ever since he was eleven, Lucius seemed to take notice of him when no one ever had.

And who knew? Lucius' knowledge of his immortality might actually benefit him one day. And it could be so _fun_.

Lucius pressed more firmly into Izar's neck, searching for a pulse that would never be there. It took all of Izar's restraint not to smirk or chuckle.

"I should have known," Lucius whispered softly. His fingers gently stroked up Izar's neck and across his cheekbone. "No human could be as alluring as you."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Lucius." Izar opened his eyes, staring tiredly across from him. He was laid out on a black sofa with a crimson pillow underneath his head. Next to him, Lucius crouched, his scarred mouth turned upward in quiet mirth.

"When?" Lucius inquired, his hands still lazily tracing Izar's features. His liquid silver eyes were warm and rather intense as they stared back at Izar.

Izar's lips parted, finding his arm too heavy to bat away Lucius' hand. Even if he was able to push Lucius away, he didn't know if he wanted the warm touch to cease. It was by no means sexual to him, just something calm and reassuring. What it was to Lucius, however, Izar was unsure. The man exuded sexual air all the time.

"_That, _I will not be divulging." Izar closed his eyes briefly. "I trust you realize this is meant to be kept between the two of us?"

Lucius gave a hum. Before he could respond in kind, the door opened. Izar kept his eyes shut, already feeling the displeasure radiating off Voldemort in waves_. _It was far too amusing to keep off a silly grin. Voldemort always got his knickers in a twist whenever Lucius was anywhere near Izar. It proved that while Voldemort like to boast he did not get jealous, he _was _insecure about their relationship and grew miffed whenever someone took a liking to Izar.

In Izar's vocabulary, that defined jealousy.

"Lucius," Voldemort hissed darkly. "While your assistance was helpful this evening, I believe Izar can rest without any additional aid."

Lucius hands moved away from Izar and the man's robes rustled as he stood. "Of course, My Lord."

Izar listened as Lucius moved to the exit. "Who was it?" Izar asked drowsily. Even without looking, he knew Lucius raised an eyebrow at his lack of explanation. "Who destroyed the diary?"

"I am unsure," Lucius responded briskly. "Both Moody and Shacklebolt arrived at the manor. Though, there were a handful of other Order members accompanying them. It could have been anyone, I just hope it wasn't Moody."

The Black heir buried his face into the pillow, smiling. "I'm almost positive it wasn't Moody, Lucius. You'll get your revenge shortly."

"I am confident things will turn out for the best," the blond continued, although, his voice was fading. "After all, the great Arthur Weasley was killed today during the attack at the base. Apparently he was the one that destroyed the Dark Lord's _familiar_."

A green and charcoal eye snapped open to survey the moderately bright face of Lucius before turning to the grim Dark Lord. "Nagini was killed?" his voice cracked unevenly at the end of his inquiry. He cleared his throat, closing his eyes once more. Voldemort had loved that damned serpent. Nagini had been vastly irritating, and yet, Izar had also grown an attachment to her. But he knew from the start she was bred in order to be killed.

He listened as Lucius took his leave, the blond most likely budding with barely suppressed curiosity.

"They're getting stronger," Izar felt inclined to break the silence first.

"You are being exceptionally vague today, child," Voldemort admonished. The man was silent as he closed in on Izar's prone form. The couch then dipped from Voldemort's weight before equally cold hands wrapped around Izar's neck, pulling the lithe body up by a sharp tug.

The younger wizard gave a groan of fierce disagreement as he wrapped his hands weakly around Voldemort's wrists. The hands encircling his throat did not let up, seemingly only tightening in response. Izar became slack; the only source anchoring his body in a sitting position was the hand around his throat.

"The Light Army is getting stronger," Izar whispered, still finding it hard to open his eyes. He must not have been unconscious for very long. "A group went to Lucius' manor, a second group went to the base, and I'm sure there was a group that went to Gringotts to destroy the cup in Bellatrix's vault. The Ministry and Order of the Phoenix have joined forces, finally."

Voldemort was silent for a long moment before he pressed something against Izar's lips. "Drink," the man ordered. His spider-like hands dropped from Izar's throat and encircled around Izar's waist. "It would be best if you could regenerate your strength as soon as possible. After doing something as _foolish _as creating another Horcrux without my supervision, you'll have to do as I say."

"You act as if that's something new," Izar quipped darkly. Nonetheless, he curled his hands around the goblet and began to drink the blood. "How did your public appearance go with the press?" he asked between swallows. "Do you think it will be long until Rufus is kicked out of office and Tom Riddle replaces him?" When he opened his eyes, he spied Voldemort's expression darkening steadily.

"Yes," the man replied simply.

Izar lowered his lids. "Who did you say was being vague today?" he asked tartly.

The Dark Lord had his mind elsewhere. His crimson eyes studied the far wall and his arm was still subconsciously wrapped around Izar's waist. A steady frown ceased both his mouth and brows, bringing attention to the darkening aura around the man. "As soon as you're able, we will be attacking Hogwarts. That will be the final push. Scrimgeour will be out of office; Tom Riddle will take over, racing to rescue the public from the Dark Lord Voldemort. And we'll change society the way it is meant to be."

Despite Izar's sluggish mind, he knew exactly what Voldemort wasn't expressing. The man was furious that his base was attacked and he was furious that the Order and the Ministry had teamed up. In the end, no matter how they looked at it, the Light _had _gotten stronger. Could it be possible that the Dark Lord was… concerned that taking over Britain wouldn't be as easy as he had anticipated?

It was a challenge. Certainly Voldemort enjoyed challenges more than he did an easy conquest. Then again, perhaps it wasn't about the Light growing in strength. It had been a direct insult to Voldemort that his base had been attacked. The man was taking this personally. If it wasn't for Izar's weakened state, the man would be marching to Hogwarts right now.

For once in his existence, Izar was thankful for being weak. The Dark Lord had a habit of going into something headfirst before he had time to think over his steps.

"I'm all for it after discussing a plan of attack," Izar murmured. "Although, I still have _one _more Horcrux to construct before I'm able to tear down Hogwarts' wards…" he trailed off, reaching down to brush his fingers against Voldemort's Gaunt ring.

The Dark Lord flinched away from the invasion. Izar stared in growing unease as Voldemort held his hand up to his face, staring at the Gaunt ring in deep consideration. The split-crimson eyes then turned in Izar's direction, gazing at his face just as intensely.

Izar sipped at his blood, wondering if Voldemort learned Legilimency without causing pain to the victim, but he knew that wasn't the case. And yet, with the intensity of his stare, Izar was beginning to falter and lose his mask.

Voldemort parted his lips in a delighted smile, reaching over to brush a stray piece of hair away from Izar's face. "Perhaps, if the Hogwarts raid goes accordingly, we will not need to construct a Horcrux."

And then Izar knew that Voldemort somehow found out about Izar's plan. Or…Voldemort had an _idea_. Both of which were always difficult to work with. Anything Izar said or expressed would be calculated closely and then reevaluated as the Dark Lord pieced together what he was missing. Voldemort was dangerous to dance around on eggshells. It took all of Izar's willpower not to drop into a defensive rant. Their eyes dueled penetratingly, both of them gauging the other's next move.

Izar plastered a bemused expression, keeping the goblet near his face. "I don't understand," he murmured silkily. "I thought the whole reason we were creating the Horcruxes was to lure Dumbledore toward the Gaunt ring."

"It is," the Dark Lord agreed. "But if he's destroyed during the battle of Hogwarts, there is no need to go through the process of creating a Horcrux."

_Fascinating_…

Izar turned, sipping at the thick liquid that replenished itself after reaching a certain volume. If what Voldemort said was true, then Izar had to look at this from a different standpoint. Seer and their visions were always subjective and could change quickly. However, if Izar treaded carefully and kept his mind open for possibilities, he was sure he could track the progress of the vision.

Earlier today, he thought he would die at the base when the Ministry attacked. But it hadn't happened. Would he die in the battle of Hogwarts? It was unlikely. But it _was _possible. Though… when he thought back to the vision, he remembered seeing an old shack and trees surrounding him. It had been quick and choppy, but he remembered the scene made him feel vulnerable. It wasn't Hogwarts. Which meant he still had more time. Perhaps not much, but he would make sure he would get his hands on the ring right after the battle at Hogwarts.

"Tell me," Voldemort began coolly. "What has your mind preoccupied so?"

Izar shrugged carelessly, feigning fatigue. "I just don't see why you're so protective over that damned ring. You _know _that we're not going to use it as the Horcrux, we're going to duplicate it." And then Izar realized an easy way to destroy the ring.

Why not have Dumbledore do it for him?

His mind ran. He could make a duplicate, but then give Voldemort the duplicate and have Dumbledore destroy the real ring. Better yet, why not make three? It would be complicated magic to construct if he didn't want Voldemort to be able to tell the difference between the rings.

"You know why I'm protective over it," Voldemort retorted.

"And you _know _my thoughts on resurrection." There, he said it. Let Voldemort think Izar wasn't afraid to broach the topic they were both dancing around. While his declaration might not make Voldemort change courses, it would make the Dark Lord second-guess Izar intentions and his suspicions.

"You can create the Horcrux _after _the battle of Hogwarts if Dumbledore still lives." The Dark Lord tracked a nail down Izar's jawline. "Until then, let's not speak of such things. They won't come to pass. My duty is to protect you."

Izar felt his lips press together before he gave a muffled laugh. "Even from yourself?"

Surprisingly, Voldemort smiled thinly in response. "I figure you have that ability if needed."

The Black heir shook his head, immensely amused at the man's response. "You're unbelievable." As much as Izar wanted to bury his face back in the pillow and sleep away the fatigue, he knew the blood he was drinking would begin to replenish his lack of energy. Plus, he still _needed_ to take a shower. "Where are we?" he glanced around the room, changing the topic while he was at it. It was best not to keep the attention on the ring longer than needed. "Another base?"

"Yes," the man replied distractedly. "It's only temporary and it's less secure than the previous one. But it will do. Not much longer until the end."

Izar scrunched his face as Voldemort leaned forward and pressed his face in the crook of his neck. The man's fingers forcibly turned Izar's head closer to his own. "Did I mention you smell delicious today?"

Outrage burned hotly across Izar's stomach at the thought of his body giving off the odor of Voldemort. "You're a _bastard_!"

The Dark Lord chuckled in answer.

**{Death of Today}**

The twelve occupants sat lazily around the room, staring moodily at one another from the corners of their eyes. No one spoke; their concentration was on managing their cool façade and plotting clever insults they could use if they managed to slip one in during the meeting. One occupant saw this, of course, and could do nothing to wipe the smirk off his face. They all thought they were vital and entitled. And while Izar liked to think they were a driving factor for the Dark Army, they were also a mere plaything for the Dark Lord.

It had taken a handful of days to regenerate his strength. Voldemort had been overbearing, as usual. The man would thrust the goblet of blood into his hands at every opportunity he had. Izar found himself taking comfort in the bath at long hours at a time in order to get away. And there was also the unusual way Voldemort was acting. For the lack of a better word, the Dark Lord was… he was bloody clingy. Of course, this was defined as the Dark Lord's clingy. If anyone else were to act similar, it wouldn't be defined as clingy.

Nonetheless, Izar turned the other cheek, not liking the fact that the sexual tension between them was still at its highest. They had sex the day the base was attacked, which was only a few days ago. Izar refused to succumb to sexual demands. It would be long until his primal desirescontrolled _him. _At any rate, he didn't mind keeping his distance and making Voldemort suffer. But what Voldemort was doing was more than giving into the tension. The Dark Lord was… clingy… as if he…

Bloody hell, Izar didn't even know how to define it. It was so _unlike _the Dark Lord that Izar just pretended he didn't see it.

Izar straightened in his chair, crossing his legs elegantly. He stared across from him at the four Lestrange family members. Cene Lestrange sat between his two sons, looking just as bored as Izar. Next to Rodolphus, Bellatrix sat grinning. Her posture lacked the usual feminine grace most witches possessed. In its place, her shoulders were hunched forward and her forearms were resting on her legs, giving the wizards around the circle a glimpse of her generous cleavage if they so desired it.

And there _were_ wizards who were staring in various degrees of interest. Walden McNair, for example, was openly ogling her. Next to Walden, Barty Crouch Junior tried to appear nonchalant in his assessment, but Izar could clearly see the thin smile warping the edges of his mouth, like that of a schoolboy who got caught with his hands down his pants. Of course, the most discreet individual was Evan Rosier. His hand was pressed to his mouth and he had a prime position of staring at the cleavage from the corner of his eye. Though, Izar wasn't the only one who noticed Evan's assessment. Next to Evan, his grandfather, Ayers Rosier, cleared his throat, casting an exasperated stare at his grandson.

For a moment, Izar scrutinized the Rosier pair. Ayers was one of the original Death Eaters, a mere schoolboy at the time of his pledged loyalty to Tom Riddle. They had shared a dorm together as Slytherin students. In a way, it was disquieting to be reminded of Voldemort's real age. Ayers showed his age of seventy by the heavy wrinkles and the bald head. And his grandson, Evan, was a few years older than Izar.

Izar scoffed softly. Voldemort could be his bloody grandfather. A wonderful and twisted relationship they shared, indeed.

Bellatrix picked apart her tattered dress hem at her knees, sighing before arching her back against the chair and flipping the mass of black curls over her shoulder. Her husband's bored look only intensified, if anything. Apparently, he wasn't fazed by his wife's display.

"She's a bloody siren," Augustus Rookwood whispered into Izar's ear. "Crazy bitch, but _very_ appealing on the eyes."

"If you say so," Izar replied, his tone dry as he offered Rookwood an insufferable look.

The only two who seemed oblivious of Bellatrix's playtime was Lucius and Evelyn Mulciber. Though, the latter was reading a letter in his hands, dismissing the other Inner-Circle members with a practiced air. Lucius was sitting next to the empty chair, his eyes dancing between Augustus and Izar, ignoring Bellatrix with a decent amount of restraint. Though, if Izar had anything to say about it, Lucius' cock swung in the direction of men, no matter what beautiful blond woman he liked to hide himself behind.

Bellatrix leaned against her chair, her knees a bit too spread out for Izar's weak stomach. He was directly across from her. It was a sight he quickly averted his eyes away from. The woman tipped back her neck and laughed gleefully, breaking the sufferable silence in the room. This was all a game to her, judging from the pleased tremors in her aura.

"My dear, _dear, _nephew," she crooned. Rolling her neck around, the cracking of her joints was the only thing ruining the image of a seductive woman. Her dark eyes zeroed in on Izar, yet she was well aware of the other men's attention.

With a wiggle, she stood up and crossed the distance of the circle. Her long fingered hand reached out and pulled Rookwood from his chair. The man stumbled forward, bracing himself expertly before he could fall on his arse. He was left standing in the center of the circle as soon as Bellatrix took his chair.

Izar continued to gaze forward, not at all affected as his distant aunt curled an arm around his shoulders and stroked his hair. She set her breast against his arm and her opposite hand claimed his thigh. "You need a woman in your life, my sweet nephew. A _real _woman who can show you pleasures."

Lucius and the others were all staring openly at the scene.

The Black heir snapped his teeth in a large grin, turning to meet her hovering face. "Are you suggesting yourself?" he murmured in question. "Because, I'm certain no one could live up to my expectations quite like you can, Bella, dear," Izar returned dryly. "Your allure is just… overwhelming."

She pouted, noting his sarcastic tongue. Cupping his manhood, she squeezed the limp appendage and purred in pleasure. "Pity. Perhaps you prefer the senseless male gender over the fairer sex."

"That must be it," Izar conceded in amusement, not at all bothered by her wandering hands. Though, the black Celtic band on his finger seared fiercely. Apparently the ring did not distinguish between sexual advances from invited and uninvited suitors. "Because no one could resist you otherwise."

"Of course he's a fag," Rabastan murmured. "Have you seen his pretty face? It belongs pressed up against a mattress."

Outrage spread across the room and Izar only smiled with glee. They had gone through this once before during last Yuletide. "I already told you, Rabastan, that you do not have to act in such a disgraceful manner in order to get my attention. I'm open for invitations, love."

The older men in the circle only shook their heads in exasperation at Izar and Rabastan's interaction. Rabastan turned red, stewing in his chair across from Izar. "I'll take up that invitation," the man whispered. "I'll put that mouth of yours into good use."

Lucius hissed lowly, a heavy sneer in place. "Such vulgarity, Lestrange." The blond swept a graceful hand down his robes, as if to wipe off the filth of sitting so close to Rabastan.

Rabastan shrugged off his father's restraining hand, glowering across the space at Izar and his sister-in-law. "The brat deserves to be put to use for his intended purpose. Apparently the Dark Lord is the only one smart enough to see that."

Izar shook his head, settling against the chair in a content fashion as he watched chaos unfold. Next to him, Bellatrix leaped from her chair, but she wasn't the only one. The majority of the other Death Eater's yelled in outrage, the whites of their eyes showing in horror and rage. "You _dare_?" Bellatrix screeched. "You dare to spit on our Lord's image in such a fashion?"

The only others who appeared as outraged as Bellatrix were the three classmates of Tom Riddle.

"Don't act so surprised," Rabastan announced in hilarity. "He's the Dark Lord's whore. Don't you _see _it?"

Before the Death Eaters could curse Rabastan, a cool and collected voice spoke up. "Don't waste your time on him," Barty Crouch Jr. murmured in boredom. "It's his jealousy talking. The only reason he became a member of the Dark Lord's Inner-Circle was because of his father and brother. Black has climbed the ranks so quick, showing his genius ability, and our Lord praises him because of it. Naturally, Rabastan has drawn up fabricated excuses in order to explain Black's success."

Izar frowned doubtfully at Crouch Jr., watching as the second youngest Inner-Circle member picked at his nails nonchalantly before continuing. "Obviously Rabastan can only express his jealousy through a vulgar tongue and ridiculous notions." Barty gave a lipless smile toward Rabastan. "We should feel pity for our comrade and his insecurity, not curse him."

Rabastan was shaking, his teeth making a loud squelching noise across the room. "Jealousy? Eh? And what about _you_, Crouch? Our Lord doesn't cater to your hide any more like a _father_," the man mocked heavily, drawing a darkening expression from Barty. "Perhaps you're the one with the jealousy complex."

Crouch Junior laughed. "The difference between us, Lestrange, is that _I _know how to carry my jealousy with poise." The dark eyes of Barty glanced at Izar, challenging the younger with his eyes. And yet, there was a hint of grudging respect. "Besides, I give credit to where it's due. I'd like to see you try to escape the Ministry by your lonesome."

Izar offered a sharp nod to the young Death Eater, realizing it had taken a great deal of self-assurance and strength for the man to admit that in public. Barty only sniffed, going back to the mindless task of cleaning his nails.

This was what Izar wanted. When he had been first initiated into the Inner-Circle, he had been met with hostile and doubtful eyes. But with time, Izar had been able to give those cynical Death Eaters a reason to believe in his abilities. He had _wanted _to prove himself _by_ himself. If his relationship with Voldemort had been public, he wouldn't have the respect he would have deserved. They all would have believed his advance in the ranks was out of sexual favoritism.

And while Rabastan was still doubtful, the others had certainly changed their perception of him. It proved to Izar that he _did _have the ability to impress others. It was a good learning experience for his future with—

He stopped his line of thinking, suddenly becoming ill. He didn't have a future with Voldemort. Not according to Aiden's vision.

_You would if you let him resurrect you… _

Izar stiffened. Before he could contemplate this issue further, the guest of honor finally showed his face. The Dark Lord strutted into the room, his expression schooled into the perfection of indifference. His hood was done, revealing his sharp features and heavy frown. Split-crimson eyes barely bothered assessing the standing Death Eaters before they settled on Izar. "What did you do this time, child?" he asked as he passed Izar's chair.

Izar only shrugged lightly, opting out of a sarcastic remark. Apparently that was out of character, for the Dark Lord faltered slightly before sitting down in his chair.

Voldemort tapped his fingers on the armrest, glancing at the Death Eaters in the middle of the circle with an air of monotony. "Be seated," he ordered darkly, watching in suppressed glee as they flinched into action. "I have gathered you here in order to discuss our plans for tomorrow. But if you had other plans in mind…"

"No, My Lord," Lucius was the one to speak up. He bowed his head forward, speaking for everyone. "We are eager to serve you and even more eager to hear of your plans."

Izar was finding it hard not to put his finger in his mouth and gag. Next to him, Bellatrix settled back down in her seat, fortunately dropping her vixen act in respect for the Dark Lord. All the other Death Eaters settled back, their expressions cleared of their earlier anger, save for a brooding Rabastan.

Voldemort assessed each and every one of his Inner-Circle members, lingering on Rabastan and Bellatrix respectively. "Our time has come to attack Hogwarts."

Silence accompanied the Dark Lord's announcement before the Death Eaters broke out into different ranges of exhilaration. Izar sat stiffly in his chair, feeling an odd sort of sensation in his stomach. He had already known what Voldemort wanted to talk about with the Death Eaters, but it just dawned on him how close it was to the end. After the attack on Hogwarts, depending on how the Dark Army did, Tom Riddle would be voted into office and the Heir of Slytherin would take over society and change it _his _way.

After which, there would be no war, no battles, save for any rogue Death Eaters who wanted to taste torture and mayhem once again or the groups of Light Wizards who may start a revolt.

Other than that… it was over. As much as Izar wanted to declare how revealed he was, he couldn't. For the past few years, his entire focus had been centered on fighting for Voldemort's right to rule Britain. But now that it was finally here, Izar felt disheartened.

It was over.

And the future that lay after it was so uncertain, so bleak and equally depressing.

He didn't know how the battle at Hogwarts would turn out. Hell, for all he knew, he could be wrong in his assumptions of Aiden's vision and die during the attack. _Voldemort _could die. Lucius could die. Bellatrix could die. The Dark Army could be crushed under the Order and the Ministry's combined forces.

Izar was unnerved, but he also knew that he had to put his focus on the present.

"Mr. Black will be a prime factor in our attack," the Dark Lord continued. "He will be unraveling the anti-Apparation wards around the castle. Once he is successful, our goal is to create havoc. Make the Wizarding World fear us. After all, Hogwarts is looked upon as the safest stronghold. Children reside here. And we will take advantage of that."

Izar stiffened, placing his hand on his chin in order to hold his tongue. Certainty Voldemort did not mean the Death Eaters should target the children?

"I want you to tear down the wards to the Common Rooms, Izar. Make the chaos escalate without a safe place to hide," Voldemort ordered, his eyes drilling into Izar's turned head. The Dark Lord gave an interested noise in the back of his throat at Izar's continued stiffness. "Do you have any reservations about that?"

Sharing a look with Lucius, Izar placed his hand away from his face and cocked his head to the side. "To put it bluntly, My Lord, yes, I do have reservations about that. I don't think it's a good idea to involve the children."

Snickers were heard around the circle, with the exception of Lucius. The blond was the only one to really have a sturdy hold over his morals. The other Death Eaters couldn't care a less about eleven-year-olds getting slain by their own hands. Izar didn't _like _children, Muggle children especially, but he did have a soft spot for them. And these were Wizarding children.

"Is that so?" Voldemort leaned forward in his chair, assessing Izar closely. "The children are the future, Mr. Black. If they experience firsthand how ruthless and dark this war really is, they'll appreciate Tom Riddle even more for putting a stop to it. Don't you agree?"

"A very sound and reasonable theory, My Lord," Izar admitted numbly. It _was_ a good theory. Izar just didn't have to agree with it. And the Dark Lord was well-aware of Izar's disagreement on the topic.

"We will straighten out the details of the children at a later date, Mr. Black," Voldemort promised darkly before he addressed the group as a whole. "As for our plan of attack, I am open for suggestions. Both the Ministry and Dumbledore's group have suspicions of our impending attack. They will likely have reinforcements around the wards, lying low and waiting for us to approach."

Izar lowered his chin against his chest and his eyelids fluttered as his mind ran. He was going through possible scenarios, possible solutions, all the while, keeping an ear open to the suggestions around him. Voldemort probably had his own plan of attack; he just wanted to give off the impression he valued his Inner-Circle members' propositions.

"The traditional method is only the best method, My Lord," Cene Lestrange spoke up. "A full blown attack. Black will have the backup he needs during his moment of weakness as he tears down the wards. The Ministry will not be prepared for such a sudden and strong attack. We'll take them off-guard."

Voices of agreement flooded the room, but Izar couldn't disagree more.

"The only ones who will be taken off-guard are us," he spoke softly, continuing to look downward. Silence and tension spread thick. "The number one mistake wizards make is underestimating your enemy." Izar blinked, lifting his chin and catching Cene Lestrange's eye. "We'll be surrounded and defenseless before I can even raise a hand to the wards."

"Then what do you suggest?" Cene hissed, his upper lip rising in order to reveal yellowed teeth.

Izar tapped his fingers once against the armrest, grinning. "Why not something a bit more… _flashy_?"

* * *

{**Notes**} I felt a bit rushed with this chapter (towards the end). I had two more scenes after this, but decided the chapter was getting too long to include them. So, Lily/James and Daphne/Draco scenes will be in next chapter—setting the mood for the start of the battle. Somehow, throughout the story, I found it acceptable to change my preference for writing a perfectly good length chapter (5,000 words) to a mammoth chapter (around 8,000+ words). *Sigh* my eyes burn.


	65. Part II Chapter 33

**Warnings: **A little sexual bit between two blondes, but only if you squint. Well, not really, but we'll just stick with that.

Thanks to all those who reviewed! And thanks to "Anon" who brought it to my attention that I forgot the _Eruditio _(the book) throughout the story. *Sheepish grin* But your comment couldn't have come at a better time because I need it in this chapter/in the future. And I haven't forgotten about the French Dark Lady. She has a special part coming up… *evil laugh*

And someone also asked about Alastor Moody. No, he is not disfigured. Remember, in Canon, he was disfigured from the First War. There was no First War in this story.

**Chapter Thirty Three **

Warm bare feet slowly slipped their way out of the heavy sheets before they reluctantly hung over the cold floor. His bleary eyes blinked at the clock as he wondered what woke him up, the empty spot next to him or the _pounding _headache that spread behind his eyes and across his skull?

James Potter rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand, grimacing in discomfort. He stumbled awkwardly from the bed, cursing under his breath as his feet curled in protest against the cold floor. Goose bumps raced across his skin, raising the small hairs on his arms and legs. The notorious Auror leaned against the wall, bracing himself as his vision raced. Usually he didn't get headaches. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he had one. In fact, it had been years ago. Sirius and he had drunk too much one night and the next morning, James had woken up with a fierce headache.

He shuddered, his thin shoulders trembling in vulnerability. Why did he get the feeling his migraine had to do with a certain redhead?

James forced himself forward, blinking past the moisture in his eyes before grabbing his glasses on the nightstand. The world came into focus, making it easier for him to make his way out the bedroom door and down the stairs. Giving the room a quick sweep, James spied the lone figure standing in the middle of the living room, bathed in only the natural light from the nightscape.

He hesitated on the last stair, unable to grasp what he was seeing

It wasn't unusual to see Lily depressed or withdrawn, but to see her completely out of control was something he had never experienced. She stood with her shoulders thrown back and her arms lifted away from the sides of her body. If her head wasn't bowed and if her body wasn't convulsing, then James would have mistaken it for a posture full of pride. Instead, her fists were clenched, causing her veins and tendons to pop from her pale and painfully thin arms.

The woman across from him seemed oblivious to his presence. Her knee-length nightgown hung off her frame, a clear and excruciating sign at how abnormally thin she was. She too had bare feet. And although her skin seemed to faintly glow blue from the cold, she didn't appear bothered by it. And yet, she was breathing harshly, giving dry sobs in between each breath. Her long crimson hair veiled her face as she bowed her neck, hiding her expression as she made choking sounds.

James quickly stepped off from the staircase and approached his wife. "Lily?" For some reason, he felt it wise to announce his presence before he touched her. Almost as if she was a cornered animal. "Lily." He placed a steady hand on her shoulder, swallowing past his surprise at how bony it was under his touch. It had been… a very long time since they were intimate. She was usually fully clothed whenever he touched her.

She heaved a shaky breath before looking at him through lank hair that had once shown beautifully. Much to his surprise, there were no tears in her eyes, only a dark and deranged spark. "I deserve to rot in hell," she told him, her voice deep and low. It was unnaturally calm and collected for someone who just appeared as if they were losing control. Yet, her tone was almost demonic, numb, and completely cold. "No matter how many potions I ingest, I just keep getting worse… each and every day…"

"Lily," James started. He was at a loss of what to do, what to say in a situation like this.

"I _want_ to feel remorse," she continued, staring at him as if he weren't there. "I want to feel remorse for everything that I've done. Sometimes, I do experience guilt, especially towards Izar, but I cannot make myself feel remorse for what I've done to Regulus…to you…"

He swallowed, frozen. Her tired and emotionless eyes watched his expression, almost mocking him.

"There are times I try to make myself cry. Sometimes I succeed, but I can't feel anything with the tears. They are just a product of my magic, granting me a dried-up wish." Her hands were still tightly fisted. She slowly turned her head away from him, staring numbly at the fall wall. "I know what I'm _supposed_ to feel. I used to be able to feel. And most of my emotions these days _are _a product from past experiences, I don't actually feel them."

"Lily," James said again, sounding void and lost to his own ears. "Don't say that…"

"Izar," Lily mumbled gently through the fall of her oil-stained hair. "He is the only person I can _feel _with. It's almost if he holds the other half of me. I can feel things with him, towards him. But no one else. No matter how much I _try_."

It didn't make any sense to James. He shook his head, placing both hands on her shoulders. "It's your depression, Lily. Have you been taking your medication?"

Dark emerald eyes gave him a quick peek before they once again became unfocused. "I haven't been taking them, no."

He dropped his arms, taking a step back in surprise. "We need to get you to the hospital, Lily."

She shook her head, smiling lightly. "No matter what they prescribe me, I will never feel the same way I did when I was young, James." The painfully frail woman turned a shoulder on James and stared down at the carpet. "I entered your mind tonight. You had a natural Occlumency shield up and I ripped right past it because my fierce protection of Izar outweighed my concern for you. I had to know what Albus had planned for him and I had to be prepared."

James grimaced, feeling something heavy in both his chest and stomach. Her words hurt him, but he would never admit it to her. He didn't know what it was like to have a child. He could not fault Lily for her thoughts, no matter how cold and rigid they were.

"And I did damage to your mind," she continued. "I realized, afterward, that I could have seriously hurt you. And you know what? I didn't feel a thing."

James turned away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why do you continue to torture yourself?" Lily asked his turned back. "Why do you continue to love and support a woman who cannot feel anything toward you? Who cannot love you back with just as much vigor?"

James opened his eyes, feeling a dry and painful lump in his throat. He whirled around, reaching out to cup Lily's face with both his hands. His warm palms all but melted against her cool skin, but he didn't care. He kept a solid and firm hold on her, stepping closer and inhaling the smell of her. With his larger body, he sheltered her smaller one, vowing to protect her.

"Because I have always loved you."

**{Death of Today}**

Draco stared into the fireplace, trying to imagine himself at the Malfoy Manor with his mother sitting next to him and his father sitting in an armchair across from them. His father would always have his reading glasses on, only feeling comfortable in his own home to put them on and admit that he needed them. Draco would always make fun of him and his vanity, but in the end, his mother would always shush him with a warm hand curling affectionately into his hair.

But he wasn't at the manor. He was in the Slytherin Common Room, sitting on a cold leather sofa while the rest of his housemates were sleeping. It was in the middle of the night, and by all means, he should be on his second cycle of sleep. But this anxiety he felt was at its highest. Something was going to happen soon, he could feel it. Merlin, _everyone _could feel it at Hogwarts. The students would stare out into the grey skies, waiting for it to snow, but the clouds never once released a snowflake.

To make matters worse, he wasn't in contact with his father or mother. The last thing he heard from them was that they were leaving the manor and not returning until after the war. The _Prophet _labeled them as fugitives from the law and Draco had to sit by and listen as his family name was continuously slandered. The students constantly walked by him and insulted him. The professors looked over their glasses at him.

Draco took it in stride, never once showing his true feelings on the subject. After all, he was the only Malfoy in the public eye right now. He was constantly seen with an upturned nose and a raised chin. No one ever knew there was a deep sadness and fright residing within him.

Well, almost no one. _She _knew. Daphne Greengrass could somehow see right through him.

"I knew you would be down here."

Speak of the devil.

Draco cupped his hands in front of his face, turning to watch as she made her way down the stairs. For a moment, he could only stare nonsensically. She was dressed scantly in a dressing gown, showing a generous amount of cleavage and leg. She was a short and petite witch, but the gown she wore exaggerated her legs.

She was bloody _gorgeous_.

Daphne sniffed, sending Draco a sour look before she tightened her outer-robe closer to her body. Draco raised a single eyebrow before turning away. Despite his original dislike of Greengrass, Draco had come to view her in a new light this past year. When he first met her, he saw her as too outspoken for a woman, too wild and untamed. She always ran with Izar, making Draco jealous at the attention Izar was giving her and not him.

But, he had matured and his views on Daphne had also matured. He saw now that she was independent and remarkably witty. She was a lot like his mother, but far sexier… but that _ridiculous_ short hair Greengrass seemed to favor… it was oddly fitting for her.

And she was a separate entity from Granger. Hermione Granger, the intelligent Ravenclaw whose looks were plain, if not on the ugly side as a child. Then again, her appearance was not what drew Draco to her. It was her intellect, her independence, her ability to raise her chin despite her dirty blood. It was also the _wrongness _of liking her that appealed to Draco. She was a Mudblood and he was supposed to hate her and plan her bloody demise. And yet, Draco found himself enamored with a forbidden fruit.

It was stupid of him. He saw it now. Though, there would always be a slight attachment to her that he could never shake. She was his first crush, his first obsession, aside from Izar, and also his first temptation.

"You know me too well," Draco replied back. He was distinctively aware of Greengrass sitting next to him on the couch. "What are _you_ still doing awake?"

She clasped her hands together. The gold and diamond Greengrass ring sparkled back at the fire. "I'm anxious for the attack to come. Who can sleep at a time like this?" she said it in a coy voice, but one look at her and Draco knew she was just as uncertain as he was.

"Things will turn out for the best," he started lamely. "Besides, with Izar on our side, I'm sure Hogwarts will remain as untouched as possible." The blond boy shifted uncomfortably, remembering the day he asked… almost _pleaded _for Izar to convince the Dark Lord to leave the students alone if the Dark ever chose to attack Hogwarts. He just wondered if Black held enough power to ask the Dark Lord so much.

"He is pretty amazing, isn't he?" Greengrass admired tenderly.

Jealousy pricked at Draco, but he reluctantly admitted that she was right. Draco would be in Izar's debt for saving his father's life. Originally, Draco had thought that Black was like the rest of the Death Eaters. Ruthless, cruel, and unsympathetic to anyone but himself. But in the end, Izar had gone out of his way to rescue Lucius from Alastor Moody's attack.

"You're not jealous, are you?" she breathed in his ear.

He turned suddenly, catching her nose with his own. "Of course I'm not jealous, Greengrass," he exhaled in her face, finding his groin tightening with her proximity. Her enchanting green eyes taunted him, daring him to make a move. _Bloody hell_. Draco had tried to court her earlier in the year and she had only laughed at him before turning her cheek. Now she wanted him after he stopped advancing forward?

As if he would flame her desire to play games with him…

He faltered, his eyes dropping to her parted lips. They were smiling gently, all but inviting him forward. Draco flashed a bitter look before he leaned forward and claimed the lips zealously. She made a noise of agreement in the back of her throat, kissing him just as passionately.

Draco was painfully hard by the time he pushed her down on the couch and broke the kiss. His eyes drank her flushed expression before they dropped to the heaving breasts. Grinning madly, he leaned down, kissing the top of her breasts and licking the seductively soft flesh.

Perhaps they wouldn't be doing this if they were oblivious to the upcoming attack on Hogwarts. While they weren't told of the Dark Lord's plans to attack, they both _knew_, they both felt as if something was approaching. And they were taking out their anxieties by coming together and distracting one another. They both had the mind frame of not hiding in the attack. The Common Rooms may be frozen and protected, but both Daphne and Draco would fight in the battle, risking their lives for something they didn't quite understand as much as their elders.

He tugged down her nightgown, revealing the supple and generous breast. She gave a moan of approval as his mouth engulfed her nipple. Apparently she found it necessary to torment him further by wrapping her legs around his waist. Draco grunted past the flesh in his mouth, thrusting his hardness against her mound.

Merlin, she was a temptress. With her bloody moans and her wandering fingers…

He reached up and curled his hand in her damned short hair, finding himself pleasantly surprised that her blond locks were just as silky as they appeared. Draco leaned down to kiss her lips once again, finding himself completely and utterly distracted for the first time in months.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar turned the page, ignoring the sound of the ice cubes clinking against glass and the heated stare directed at the center of his forehead.

"What are you reading, child?"

Izar stared at the print on the crisp page, admiring the book for a moment. It hadn't been used for a good few weeks, but Izar was lucky to find it in one of the trunks that had transported here from Voldemort's old base. He remembered when Voldemort gave it to him on his fifteenth birthday. The _Eruditio _had just been in the fables he read about. For the Dark Lord to give him the rare tome had been a true delight. The pages were blank until he specified a subject to read about it. When he was finished, the words would disappear as well, hidden away from _prying _eyes.

"Nothing in particular," Izar murmured, flipping the page that described the process of creating duplicates of objects. Considering he was magic-sensitive and able to see the aura around the Gaunt ring clearly, Izar was confident he could pull this together.

The Dark Lord gave a tsk before standing. He sat directly next to Izar, leaning in closer. "I could always read those pretty thoughts of yours. Your mind would be unprotected against me."

The Black heir looked up from his book, offering the Dark Lord an exasperated look. "I'm not hiding anything from you. You've become increasingly paranoid." Izar tilted his book away from Voldemort and leaned his torso closer to the Dark Lord. "Does that mean that you're actually considering me a threat?" He offered a smile full of teeth, enjoying the narrowing eyes watching him.

"You'll never win," the Dark Lord mused. He sipped at his drink, keeping his attention on Izar all the while. "I can guarantee you that. Especially _this_ game."

Izar lifted an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware we were currently engaged in a game." He leaned back once again, tightening his hold on his book. Voldemort's words upset him. The man was just _too _arrogant, too confident. It made Izar's determination heighten in regards to this whole death experience. "I better get on it then," he pondered dryly. "What is the objective of this _game_?"

Suddenly, his jaw was taken roughly by a controlling and furious Dark Lord. The book in Izar's hands dropped to his lap as his face was thrust closer to Voldemort's. His crimson eyes were unnaturally bright tonight as they pierced Izar straight through, almost taking the younger off-guard.

Before the Dark Lord had a chance to open his mouth, Izar reacted out of instinct and knocked the man away. The tumbler in the Dark Lord's hand fell to the ground, smashing with a deafening shatter. Izar stood from his position on the couch and angrily stopped before the fireplace, keeping a mental note on the man's whereabouts at his back.

They both stayed silent as a heavy air of anger and melancholy cloaked the room. Izar swallowed thickly, sighing. He pressed his hand against the cold mantle of the fireplace, keeping his eyes on the low flames. Behind him, he was aware of Voldemort staying rooted on the couch.

"You haven't pressed the topic about the children at Hogwarts," the Dark Lord began.

It surprised Izar that Voldemort would willingly change the subject. Yet, he controlled himself expertly and cocked his head to the side. "If I press the topic," he started, "I know that you'll have me beg to keep the children out of the battle. So I'll remain quiet and hope your infatuation with me will make you reconsider."

The man chuckled, yet it lacked its normal sadistic humor. If Izar turned around, he knew the smile wouldn't have any chance of meeting the crimson eyes.

"It's amusing to hear you define them as _children _when you, yourself, are only sixteen."

"Yes," Izar growled. "You don't need to remind me that I'll be sixteen forever." Or, as long as he lived.

The Dark Lord remained silent once again, left behind in the after effects of Izar's cold tone. The man then stood up, his boots crunching the broken glass on the wood floor. Slowly, as if gauging Izar's reaction, Voldemort encircled his arms around the smaller body and embraced him from behind. Voldemort blew on Izar's ear and cheek, caressing his nose and lips across Izar's hairline.

"You are not yourself, child. It pains me." A tongue flickered out and traced the outer-shell of Izar's ear. "Something is obviously weighing heavily on your mind," the man ridiculed in a mocking-like tone.

Izar kept his face turned stubbornly away, but allowing the action. And then… Voldemort asked something so startling that Izar became limp in the man's hold.

"Are you unhappy with me?"

The Black heir grimaced, suddenly feeling claustrophobic and crowded. He rolled his head away from the dancing lips, feeling his stomach contrast. Was he happy with Voldemort? He told Regulus he was, but Izar realized he had never really thought about his true feelings on the matter. He never thought deeply about them. And he refused to do it now. Not when he was pressured and too full of conspiracies against the man in question.

"No," Izar found himself admitting truthfully. He turned, catching the wandering lips with his own briefly. "I'm not unhappy. I just wished circumstances would be different." He pulled away from the hold, offering the man a tight smirk behind his shoulder. "You should rest for the battle tomorrow. After all, this is your chance to shine, My Lord."

**{Death of Today}**

"Are the posts secured?" Rufus barked over his shoulder. The man trailing behind him tripped over his robes, stumbled, but remained upright.

"Yes, Minister, sir," the secretary pushed up his glasses. "The Aurors are centered around Hogwarts' wards as we speak. Security has been at its highest since Black escaped from our holding cells. Dumbledore has sent word, asking for extra men around the perimeter tonight."

"And?" Rufus pressed as he limped, but all the while, he managed to out-pace the younger wizard behind him. "I trust you cooperated and sent the required men?"

"I did," Jenkins replied stiffly, as if insulted Rufus would think any different.

Rufus grunted in affirmative, choosing to say little in regards of the topic. He tightened his light grey cloak around his body before making his way across the floors of the Ministry and toward his office. It burned his pride to be working with Albus Dumbledore and taking orders from the old man. And to have _his _Aurors sent over like hired hands was also difficult to swallow. Working with a Lord had never been on Rufus' list of necessary measures when dealing with _another _Lord. He felt like the common middle-man, being used as a stepping stone for both men.

Voldemort and Dumbledore believed this to be their war. Good against evil. White versus black. Light versus Dark. It was always this way with Lords. And while Rufus could see Izar Black as the most prospective Grey Lord, the boy was far too under Riddle's thumb to step out and do anything about the war at the moment. At any rate, Black would be a _Lord_ and Rufus couldn't rely on another dictator to be thrown in the mix.

In the end, if he wanted things done properly, he had to do it himself. This fell on his shoulders. The society, and the country as a whole, should be run by the _people_. Not Lords. The government would always be the ruler. Rufus had already slaved his way through the Departments in his Ministry and cleansed out as much as the deceit as he could find. Granted, he knew he could never truly find all the heavy manipulators and all the corruption, but it was a start.

And he would be damned if he was stopped short in his goals by a Lord, whether that be Dumbledore or Voldemort.

Yes, for now he was working alongside Albus. But it was only skin deep. The old Headmaster was lending his men and Rufus was lending his own men. It seemed like a common cause. Bring down Lord Voldemort and his army, stopping this havoc the Dark Lord uprooted in Britain.

Dumbledore did not need to know Rufus had his own plan beneath the surface. Hogwarts would soon be run by the government. A man of such power should never run a school, influencing the students so closely and making the children view the world as good and evil. Everyone was grey. Even the almighty Albus Dumbledore had flaws that would tarnish that bright aura of prestige he liked to wrap himself around. And the same went with the Dark. Izar Black was an excellent example. He was considered evil and dark to many, but the boy had morals and a small sliver of humanity. It lightened his cloak to a solid grey.

Rufus curled his lip, pushing himself to his office with Jenkins following at his heels. He hated what he had become during his time in office. Life had been much easier when he was Head of the Auror division. Then again, his views had been tunneled back then. While he dabbled with a few Dark Art spells, they had been used cautiously and only if he desperately needed them. He had believed the Dark Arts to be corrupt. Light Magic was superior and better for the soul.

And while that _was _the case, and most wizards had trouble controlling the Dark, it didn't necessarily make that branch of magic _bad_. What branch of magic a witch or wizard preferred to practice didn't define them; it was what they _did _with the magic. It was their actions that defined them.

The children nowadays and back when he was growing up, had all been taught that the world was strictly black and white. Those who used the Dark Arts were evil and those who practiced the Light Arts must be entirely good.

It had to change.

And Rufus _despised _himself for thinking so openly… for _agreeing _with Tom Marvolo Riddle's endless speeches to the presses. Rufus wasn't an idiot. It may have taken him a long while to accept the fact that Riddle was the Dark Lord, but he unraveled the man's motives. Voldemort and Tom Riddle were two people to the world. Tom Riddle would save the world by kicking Rufus out of office and getting rid of Voldemort by making changes to society.

Rufus rubbed the bridge of his nose, pressing his eyes closed. He had been used as a pawn. He still was. The only reason he hadn't been assassinated by the Dark Army was because Tom Riddle needed him alive in order to pass his position as Minister to him.

Clever. And Rufus reluctantly respected what Riddle had planned for the changing society. But that didn't mean Rufus agreed on the man's methods. Take out all the raids and killings, Voldemort was going about this cunningly. His scheme would make the public less inclined to protest against the sudden changes to their society, but the killings were unmoral. What was to say Riddle didn't plan on leaning Britain closer to the darker side than the grey like Rufus had imagined? If the Dark Lord was _dark_, clearly his rule would be full of corruption.

Rufus couldn't allow the Dark Lord to win. He wouldn't allow his limbs to be manipulated by Riddle's strings any longer. Hence the reason he called upon a dangerous, but useful ally. Not even Dumbledore was aware of Rufus' associates. The Dark Army would be crushed.

He only asked for one individual to be spared.

It wouldn't surprise anyone to hear Rufus wanted Izar Black to be spared. He supposed it may have been an unhealthy obsession. But whenever he looked at the boy, he thought of a tragedy. The wizard had so much potential. And he was still so young. Rufus had yet to discern what he wanted to do with the boy. It depended on what transpired in the next few days. It certainly gave him time to construct a prison that would hold the magic-sensitive boy.

Aside from the unwarranted killings, the boy's escape from the Ministry had been… most impressive. Magic-sensitives weren't known to have the ability to drain magic or cut off a wizard's core. Such potential, such _power _and intelligence could be a value to Rufus. And the boy was charming. A true politician.

And yet, Rufus had to accept the fact that Izar was also dangerous and apparently _raised _by the Dark Lord. Though, Izar was strong enough to hold his own beliefs and morals. In his past duels, Izar had never drained his enemy's cores to gain the extra advantage. Any child who was raised by a Dark Lord shouldn't think twice about playing fair.

Yet Izar did.

"Headmaster Dumbledore indicated that there have been a few sightings of Death Eaters around the wards earlier today," Jenkins started hesitantly behind Rufus. The two crossed the boundary into Rufus' office.

"It doesn't surprise me," Rufus murmured, sitting at his chair. "Izar Black was captured around the Hogwarts' wards only a few days ago. He is known to be able to drain magic and rip away wards faster and more efficient than any other Ward Breaker."

The dark blond man sat at the chair across from Rufus, staring at him with wide, naïve eyes. "Do you reckon they'll break through the wards?" The aid glanced down at his disarrayed suit in contemplation. "They wouldn't be stupid enough to attack when there are so many Aurors around the perimeter."

"No," Rufus agreed darkly. "But the boy has been known to do the impossible."

As the words escaped his mouth, the lights dimmed in the Ministry before an alarm sounded. Rufus stood suddenly, grabbing the desk in front of him quickly to give himself balance when the whole Ministry trembled. Rufus could only stare at the wall across from him, unable to comprehend the current situation.

What if Hogwarts hadn't been their goal? What if it was the Ministry that they wanted to tear down? Rufus' men were around Hogwarts currently. There was no force, no army here to guard the walls of the Ministry.

Rufus clenched his jaw, trying to identify if this was a ruse or the Dark's true plan. It would make sense for the Dark Lord to draw attention around Hogwarts and then successfully pull Rufus' forces away from base. It was like that two-faced politician to think two steps ahead.

"Damn _it!" _Rufus growled, slamming his fist down. He would be damned if he lost this war.

**{Death of Today}**

"They're leaving," Lestrange noted in glee. "They're leaving. Just as we planned." The man laughed softly.

"_We_?" Crouch Junior questioned in hilarity. "It was the Dark Lord's idea, fool. Not yours. Not _ours_."

Let the men think Voldemort came up with the plan. They were all in the room the time Izar presented his idea and they all knew _he _was the one to come up with the plan. He didn't care who was given credit, just as long as his plan worked out. Amusing, though, that the Death Eaters pinned Voldemort as the one to come up with the plan. The Dark Lord was against this from the start.

He cast a lazy glance toward the Hogwarts perimeter, watching from the folds of his hood as the Aurors began to slowly Disapparate away. After all, the entire Dark Army was currently attacking the Ministry. Well, everyone but three figures, both of whom were in the Inner-Circle and currently sitting in the woods on thick tree branches.

Izar pulled his leather gloves fully over his hands, causing the material to squelch. "If you both continue nattering, then all of this will be for naught," he warned with a lethal hiss. Despite not being able to sense any magical signatures below them or close in the woods, Izar wasn't foolish to speak on the top of his lungs. There was also the prospect of creatures acting as spies for the Headmaster. Not that Izar couldn't handle Albus. He just wanted the Aurors away from the wards.

Ignoring the glowering looks from Rabastan and Barty, Izar jumped from his position on the branch before landing on the ground. He made sure their current location was near the entrance of Hogwarts and near the iron-rod gates. It was where Izar discovered the knot to the wards. And luckily, the palm-sized knot was still in its current position, looking just as beautiful and impressive as the first time he had seen it. His fingers danced toward it, wanting to caress the small shocks of color that danced inside it.

Izar stood motionless, listening to the continuous _cracks _of Disapparation sounding around the wards. Most the Aurors were gone, having been drawn away from Hogwarts in order to defend the Ministry. He wished they would hurry. The tantalizing magic in front of him made his hand inch closer and closer.

He stared up at the sky, past the half-dome of wards and toward the pitch-black sky. A light smile played his lips as he witnessed the snow fall. The night was simply beautiful; full of magic, full of fear and anticipation, full of prospective futures being laid out. There would be suffering tonight, fierce battles, and he couldn't _wait. _

Lestrange and Crouch Junior jumped down from their own position, approaching Izar when their Marks began to tingle.

It was finally time. Apparently the number of Aurors was accounted for. The plan was simple. Lure the Aurors to the Ministry by attacking the powerhouse, all the while, giving Izar enough time and space to tear down the anti-Apparation wards. When Izar completed his task, he would touch his wand to his Dark Mark and alert Voldemort and the rest of the Death Eaters that they could Apparate to Hogwarts safely.

"Cover my back this time, will you?" Izar asked cheekily over his shoulder at toward the two Death Eaters. Izar had his own golden mask on. It would be best if no one recognized his face any more than they had to. When Voldemort became Minister he would pull strings to clear the names of his Death Eaters. It would make things harder if Izar was continuously seen at attacks, especially this attack tonight.

Barty grunted. "Just hurry up, Black. This place gives me the creeps."

Deciding to omit a sarcastic remark, Izar turned back to the wards. Lifting a hand, he reached toward the wards and gently caressed the magic. His body trembled in pleasure and his eyes began to close in exhilaration. The wards under his gloved hands purred at his touch, bucking against him like a cat begging for a stroke. Izar complied, stroking the knot and the ancient wards. It felt exhilarating, this feeling. Magic this old and powerful was delicious. It could easily consume him if Izar wasn't careful enough.

Slowly, his fingers worked the knot, cooing and whispering words of endearment. The knot began to slowly loosen, making the blanket of wards around Hogwarts easier to identify with their different properties. The anti-Apparation wards were gradually coming into focus and Izar kept an eye on them through lowered lids. There were at least five different anti-Apparation wards layered on top of each other. But there was also many categories of protective charms, too many to shred. It would be best to unravel the knot completely and then tug the blanket of wards with one sharp pull.

The knot sighed before unraveling underneath Izar's manipulative hands. The Black heir tipped his head back, pulling at the loose ends. Around Hogwarts, the atmosphere seemed to groan loudly and the snow began to fall quicker. The golden dome of wards blinked and lightening veined through them, visible to anyone, not just magic-sensitives.

Izar clenched his jaw, curling his hands around the anti-Apparation wards and tugging. He breathed heavily as it resisted at first, bucking against him, but it was unable to resist a magic-sensitive. The castle screamed as it sensed itself becoming nude and vulnerable. Despite the multiple layers of protection wards still in place, the Death Eaters should be able to Apparate now. Izar would just continue working on the other blankets of wards while they were in the process of traveling.

Keeping his left hand on the wards, he lifted his sleeve with his opposite hand and pressed his wand into his Mark. It would alert the others of his success.

Fr0m the corner of his cloudy mind, Izar was aware of another aura approaching from behind. As if drugged, he turned, watching in disbelief Rabastan fell dead next to him before Barty Crouch Junior followed with only a second of holding himself against his enemy.

The sounds of Apparation sounded and Izar was distinctively aware of the Death Eaters arriving. Through distrustful and drugged eyes, Izar watched as Dumbledore stepped out from the trees surrounding the gates of Hogwarts.

"Hello, Izar."

"Old man," Izar greeted with a slurred tongue.

**{Death of Today}**

Lucius landed on the grounds of Hogwarts with the rest of his comrades. Lifting his heavily cloaked arms, the blond aristocrat rejoiced in the sensation of Apparating on Hogwarts' soil. Ever since he was a boy, they would always advise the students that it was impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts' wards. Now, with Izar's aid, he was able to accomplish the impossible.

But his jubilation did not last long. Through the slits of his mask, he watched as the group of Death Eaters ran toward the castle. Much to Lucius' pleasure, they would be leaving the students out of the battle. They were only meant to do damage to the castle and attack any of the students who were foolish enough to exit the Common Rooms. Not kill.

Apparently Izar had enough control over the Dark Lord to make the man see reason.

Clutching his wand in a gloved hand, Lucius made his way with the rest of the Death Eaters. It wouldn't be long until the Aurors and Order were hot on their heels. The reason behind this attack was to push Tom Riddle into office and to destroy as many Aurors and Order members as possible. Depending on how tonight went, this could very well be the last raid.

His steps faltered when he watched the scene unfold in front of him. The few Death Eaters who began attacking the castle were thrown backward by an invisible force. Lucius felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand as he watched his companions scramble up from their backs. Something was not right.

Turning, he spied the Dark Lord standing apart from his army, taking just as much interest in the scene as Lucius had. "I thought Izar took care of the wards?" Lucius breathed to the Dark Lord. "I never imagined Hogwarts having so many protection wards."

"It doesn't," the Dark Lord hissed, turning his heel and assessing the perimeter of the castle. "Or, it never used to."

Lucius and the rest of the Death Eaters took a step back as lightening forked across them, far too low to be a result of the weather. In fact, it looked as if the lightning curved around the castle, creating an invisible dome around the perimeter. Despite the lightning being ominous, it was a rather breathtaking scene against the relentless downfall of snow.

He turned his heel, noticing the lightening originating from a location near the gates of Hogwarts.

"Do not Disapparate," the Dark Lord roared. "There is currently an anti-Apparation ward in place."

They were trapped within the wards. But that could only mean…

Lucius watched as the Dark Lord fled the courtyard and toward the gates, leaving behind an anxious and unsettled army of Death Eaters. Not caring about appearances, Lucius ran after the Dark Lord, fearing he knew what exactly what waited for him at the entrance of the castle. What other reason could the wards be acting up? This was unplanned and Izar was always very precise and stubborn. If something didn't go his way, he would go through leaps and bounds before admitting defeat.

The blond slowed as he neared the gates, staring in disbelief at the scene before him.

A Death Eater was down on all fours, his lithe body trembling in effort to remain upright. Judging from the two prone and lifeless bodies near the struggling Death Eater, Lucius could only assume it was Izar who was struggling. The boy didn't look up, his head remained bowed forward as if his skull was too heavy to support. There were small whines coming from Izar's mouth, making the boy resemble a crying pup more than the proud and confident wizard Lucius was accustomed to.

His silver eyes swept sideways toward the Dark Lord. The wizard came to a stop directly next to Izar. It was clear that the Dark Lord could go no further. There was a visible barrier standing between him and his lover, and yet, the man made no sign of distress as Izar crooned at his feet deliriously.

Lucius traced the wards with his eyes, wondering if this was what Izar saw. There was a solid gold dome around Hogwarts' perimeter with lightening forking across the wards. The only upsetting thing about it was that Izar seemed to be covered with the wards himself and the lightening steamed from him, looking as if it were bringing him more pain.

"Creative, old fool," the Dark Lord hissed darkly. "What do you call this now?"

Lucius stiffened, finally catching sight of the other wizard. Albus Dumbledore stood outside Hogwarts' wards, on the other side of the barrier. His wand was trained lazily on Izar, igniting a sharp fury in Lucius.

"A charm I've created especially for Mr. Black, Tom." Dumbledore, the old coot, frowned sadly. "It's not something I am proud of, but nonetheless—"

Izar cried out hoarsely when the Dark Lord attacked the wards viciously. Lucius stumbled backward, taken off-guard by the aftermath of the Dark Lord's magic. The man's magic struck the wards, only to be rebounded back at them. Of course, the Dark Lord whirled around effortlessly, his cloak and appearance just as suave as it was before, as if he hadn't dodged so quickly. Lucius adjusted his stance, staring suspiciously at the wards and Izar. Apparently anything cast at the wards affected Izar just as much.

The Dark Lord breathed fiercely through his nostrils, stalking the barrier like that of a caged animal. "What did you _do_?" the Dark Lord whispered dangerously.

Dumbledore cupped his hands together in front of his body, assessing the fallen and whimpering figure of Izar. "What better way to serve his immortality than by protecting Hogwarts?"

Lucius stiffened, not realizing Dumbledore knew of Izar's immortality. Looking over his shoulder, he assessed the approaching Death Eaters. They were too far out of earshot to hear the old fool's statement.

"You see," Dumbledore continued. "I made it possible for Izar is become part of the wards. Because he is magic-sensitive, the ancient magic is able to bond with him like no other wizard before him. It recognizes Izar as a companion and it will continue to eat away at him until there is nothing but Izar's essence. No physical body will be left behind and Izar will be one with the wards. His immortality will allow him to protect Hogwarts for as long as it stands."

Lucius placed a hand to his mouth, feeling ill. His eyes traced Izar's trembling form, noticing the boy's body slowly begin to fade. What a cruel fate. Not death, not life, but an endless existence as an _essence_ and a mere protector for a castle.

Casting a side-long glance at the Dark Lord, Lucius was quick enough to spy the crimson eyes widening a fraction.

"That's impossible, old fool," the Dark Lord called Dumbledore's bluff.

Dumbledore only smiled grimly. "I'm afraid it's not, Tom. There is only a few minutes left before the wards eat Izar's physical entity completely. And I'm afraid there is nothing you can do to stop it."

The Dark Lord stared at Dumbledore with ice-like impassiveness. The aura around the wizard began to darken, chilling even Lucius at its intensity.

"Tom Riddle may not be able to do anything," a voice announced from the trees. "But I can. And I will."

Lucius turned his attention on the tree line, watching in suppressed astonishment as none other than Lily Potter stepped out from the shadows. She was cloaked in black, the thick material clashing horribly with her bone-white face. The witch's red hair appeared black in the dark lighting and her face was a mask of complete indifference. And yet, the more Lucius stared at her composed and determined expression, the more he realized that she resembled her son in many ways. Perhaps Izar wasn't _all_ Black.

Dumbledore appeared forlorn as he watched her approach him from over his shoulder. It was clear that the Headmaster didn't view Lily Potter, the petite witch, a threat. "Lily…" he started sadly before turning in her direction. "You don't want to do this."

Much to Lucius' surprise, the woman didn't even flinch at the man's condescending tone. Instead, an aura of darkness clung to her as she raised her wand. "_You _don't know anything," she breathed. Her bony wrist was steady. "I've wanted to do this for so long…"

Dumbledore raised his wand to meet hers, a resigned expression on his face. Before he could attack the small witch, another figure made his appearance. This time, the newcomer took position at Dumbledore's back.

It took Lucius a few blinks to comprehend that James Potter was holding his wand to Dumbledore's head.

* * *

_{**Notes**} A shorter chapter, yes. But it was either a short chapter or no chapter. :) Thanks everyone!_


	66. Part II Chapter 34

**Warnings: **Meh. What usually accompanies war/battles; death, blood, gore… bad grammar. Well, the grammar bit doesn't accompany a war; it's just one of the warnings. ;) Most of these warnings are for the next chapter.

Thanks to all of you who reviewed.

**Enjoy. **

**Chapter Thirty Four**

His face.

Lucius had seen that emotion before. Certainly never on the man before him, but on other men who realize something is out of their control and they could do nothing to stop it.

Granted, the face was crafted into the finest stone of impassiveness, but Lucius was no fool. Beneath the thick mask and the indifferent attitude, Lucius could see a strong sense of helplessness and concern. The Dark Lord was feeling something, experiencing something _human_. And Lucius was the first Death Eater, with the expectation of Izar, to see something so vulnerable coming from the Dark Lord.

Deciding to avert his attention away from the unfolding scene in front of him, Lucius continued to stare sharply at the turned face of his Lord. The crimson eyes had yet to leave Izar's fallen form. It was if Dumbledore, the Potters, and Lucius were not even present.

The wards bucked near his feet, startling blond when small shock-like static danced up his legs. He turned away from his Lord and toward the ground. Through the gold veil of the wards, Izar was trying to reach Lucius' feet, all the while, struggling to remain as upright as he could. Quickly, Lucius crouched down low in order to hear the boy clearly.

"Izar," he breathed, reaching out toward the wards. He wasn't surprised when his fingertips hit a visible barrier and bounced backward. Assessing the trembling wizard, Lucius pondered why the boy was reaching out toward him and not the Dark Lord. Surely… he would want to speak to his lover?

"Fools," the boy rasped. Slowly, a chuckle began to escape from behind the boy's mask. Pity Lucius' last memory of his shameless fascination would be that of a gold mask and not the flawless beauty beneath. "Are you two just going to stand there? The Ministry is here…" somehow, Lucius found the words understandable through the agonized tremor and the harsh intakes of air.

Lucius pulled away before turning and observing the approaching Ministry a few yards away. They had their attention on the group of Death Eaters who were doubtlessly immobile and uncertain as to what was occupying their Lord.

"Go," the Dark Lord ordered. Apparently he had heard Izar despite the whispered words.

"My Lord," Lucius exclaimed softly, casting a look at James and Lily Potter. "What of you?"

"I am needed here and you are needed there. Go."

Lucius was torn. He admired Izar enough to want to stay behind and assist any way possible, he was also intrigued to watch the drama behind the Potter loyalty unweave, but he knew all those temptations were pale in comparison to his own loyalty to the Dark Lord. And to imagine that his Lord was opting out of a battle in order to stand guard over a boy who was slowly fading from existence. It solidified Lucius' suspicions that Izar was far more than just a plaything to the Dark Lord. They were lovers, yes, but to what extent?

"I wish you luck, My Lord. I will see you and Izar on the battlefield." Naturally, his tone was smooth and unaffected. Though, in reality, he felt bitter uttering those words. There would be no Izar, would there? Would the Death Eaters be stuck within the wards like trapped animals? Wards that included the spirit and entity of a boy who had sacrificed many things for this war? It was revolting. Even more so when Lucius realized he was hoping the Potters would succeed.

Lucius lifted his chin as he backed up. The boy on the ground turned his neck and watched him through the heavy mask. Those eyes were vulnerable, so full of pain and struggle. Yet, Lucius could still see shadows of defiance. He realized the boy was surviving this long in his physical body because he was stubborn and refused to be defeated.

"I said _go_," the Dark Lord commanded with a roar. The man's cloak snapped around his feet as he took an advancing step toward Lucius. His features were angrily contorted, a weak and flimsy mask Lucius could easily see through.

Nonetheless, he gave a sharp nod and followed instruction.

If they were going to be herded inside the wards until they were either killed or taken into custody, Lucius wasn't going to fall without a fight. He owed that much to the boy at his back.

**{Death of Today}**

"I am only trying to make things right. You don't want to do this, James," Albus tried to reason with him in a soothing and pacifying tone. His wrinkled hands rose in the air, and yet, his wand was still resting confidently between his fingers.

James kept his own wand stubbornly next to the Headmaster's head, wondering when the hell he decided to throw years upon years of loyalty out the window for a boy who was the Dark Lord's right-hand man. But no. _No_. This wasn't for Izar Black, the notorious Dark prodigy. This was for Lily and her son.

_Lily and her son._ Those were the words he tried to keep repeating to himself as he followed Lily tonight. He had ignored an emergency call from the Aurors, he had abandoned his comrades during battle, and he had subjected himself with doubts that still felt like suffocating weights on his chest— all in order to follow Lily.

It was always to follow Lily. Wherever she went, whatever she believed, he followed. It was his duty as a husband and as a friend. Always.

"No," he whispered in bitter agreement. "No, I don't want to do this, Albus."

He cast a sidelong glance at the Dark Lord on the other side of the pulsating wards. The cloaked figure seemed to pay him little attention, but James knew the man wasn't oblivious to a single thing happening in his proximity. Even from the other side of the wards, James could still sense the overpowering and commanding magic surrounding the man. It sent unwelcoming chills down his spine. For many, the magic would be seductive, tempting, but James could detect the oily undertones that made it possible for him to resist.

Straining to keep an eye on Dumbledore, James dropped a quick glance at the boy on the ground. "But you leave me no choice," James murmured. "What you're doing is something I cannot accept or support. It's morally _wrong_."

The boy, cloaked heavily in his Death Eater uniform, finally lost his silent battle and fell to the ground fully. He buried his masked face into the ground, refusing to give either his Lord or his enemies the satisfaction of looking into his eyes. The only thing that gave way to his suffering and stubborn fight were the gloved fingers anchoring themselves into the ground.

James pursed his lips, turning away from Lily's child. There was a small part of James that _loathed_ the boy with every fiber of his being. The child took after Regulus and Bellatrix Black far more than he did Lily, and because of that, the boy was a bad influence on Lily. The boy was also dangerous, far too smart for someone of his age and power status. Obviously, if the boy wasn't a threat, the Dark Lord wouldn't take such a liking to him.

Though, there was also another part of James that harbored an entirely different view on the boy. Even if he hadn't interacted with Izar all that much, he had seen a great amount of Lily in him that hid behind the Black traits. Granted, it was the part of Lily James hadn't seen from her in many years, but it was there, and it reminded James of the reason he had sought after her. Mother and son both had a glow that drew people to them, a certain appeal that others found hard to resist. They excelled at charm and mystery, an open invitation for anyone foolish enough to walk into their enthrall.

It was all there. Even Lily's past warmth was in Izar, albeit dim. If the boy didn't have emotions or morals, he wouldn't have brought Sirius' body back the day after the attack. And if Izar wasn't Lily's son, he wouldn't have the strong sense of devotion to his family and those he deemed under his protection.

"I am not killing him," Albus responded evenly.

"_No,_ something much worse," Lily growled in return.

She met James' eyes over Albus' shoulder and a silent look of gratitude danced behind the eerily bright eyes. James would go as far and claim they were the brightest he'd seen them in a long time. It only made him suspicious to what Lily's intentions were. When he followed her here, she had been oblivious to his presence. Naturally, she had her own plan, one that hadn't involved James. So how had she planned on defending herself against Albus without another's aid?

Already, James could see her inching closer to Izar's fallen form. If he noticed, he was sure Albus noticed as well.

"Lily," Albus warned desperately, having caught her objective. "You _must_ see he is the enemy. His existence is going to be used for the better—"

"You enjoy the sound of your voice far too much, old man," the Dark Lord finally stepped in. His verbal attacks were the only thing available to him at the time, seeing he was unable to attack past the wards without harming Izar further. "You sprout nonsense as if you actually believe it yourself. What a truly vile mind you have, Albus. Why not just kill the boy and get it over with?"

"It would make your job too easy, Tom."

"Ah," the Dark Lord sighed gleefully as if he just received a large prize. "So you admit you aren't doing this for the better good, but in order to spite me as if the boy actually means something to me."

Dumbledore chuckled as he lifted his wand. James tightened his grip on his own wand, knowing that this upcoming battle might prove futile. While he was considered a top Auror, Albus was a Lord. Their power was not on the same level, but James' determination might be the one factor that equaled the playing field.

"You love the boy," Dumbledore murmured. His back was still turned to James and his eyes were calmly following Lily's slow progress to her son. As soon as someone made a move, all hell would break loose. "Why else would you be here if otherwise? It truly does sadden me that I have to get rid of the only one who can ground you, Tom, but he is a dangerous enemy. Perhaps… even more dangerous than yourself only because he can control _your _actions just as well."

James frowned, continuing to stare levelly at the back of Albus' head. What nonsense was the man spouting? The Dark Lord _loved _Izar? James felt ill at the thought of it and only hoped that it was a platonic-sort of love and not sexual by any means.

"As well, this was planned particularly to protect the students and Hogwarts, not just to destroy Izar," Albus continued. "By completing this ritual, Izar will have a hand in saving innocent lives tonight and also putting a stop to the war. Your army will not be able to leave the wards without the Headmaster's permission."

James averted his eyes from Lily, who was whispering beneath her breath, and back to Albus. Was it really that horrible what Albus was trying to accomplish? James could only see the positives to what the Headmaster was putting Izar through. One life would be sacrificed in order to save hundreds. If Izar's entity was absorbed by the wards, the war would be put to a stop tonight and the children would be safe in the school.

"Which is why I cannot allow you to continue, Lily," Albus mourned. It was his only warning before he lunged at her.

Despite James' loyalties to the Light and his heavy uncertainties, his love for Lily made him react just as quickly as Albus. He barely had time to divert the magic away from Lily and into the surrounding trees. James rolled to the ground, avoiding a second attack by Albus. The thing with Lords was that they enjoyed throwing around magic, not bothering with specific spells or curses. They just created and manipulated the magic to their own desire. An enemy like that was hard to battle against.

He was on the constant offense as he tried to lure Dumbledore's attention away from Lily. He tried casting shallow cuts to the ankles; he tried to cave the ground in; he tried to conjure obscuring clouds in front of the man's face… _anything_. Anything but critically attacking a man he had looked up to since childhood.

His attacks could do little to stop Albus, though. The man just batted James' curses away as if they were a mere inconvenience. Nevertheless, James _was _effectively buying time for Lily. But was that really what he should be doing?

James swallowed the lump in his throat as he witnessed her stepping _inside _the wards with her son. He knew then, exactly what she was planning on doing. Perhaps his presence really wasn't necessary for her plan. Perhaps, by now, even if Dumbledore wanted to tear her out from the wards, he wouldn't be able to succeed. Nonetheless, James needed an outlet and he would continue fighting.

There was something oddly bitter about putting more effort into his attacks against Albus Dumbledore. Perhaps it was because he knew he could have possibly saved Lily's life by stopping his attacks on Albus. Instead, he was giving her protection in order to sacrifice her life to save her son. He was willingly stepping aside and sending the woman he loved to the grave.

Blinking past the moisture in his eyes, James grew fiercer against his attacks on the old Headmaster. He would be damned if he let her sacrifice go to waste.

**{Death of Today}**

Magic like this was… well it certainly was something else.

Izar could only close his eyes against the onslaught of magic and power. When he was first introduced to the world of magic at age eleven, he had been overwhelmed for days after feeling Dumbledore's aura. Even Voldemort had a strong aura that took days to grow used to. But their magic was nothing compared to _this. _The magic currently washing around and through him was ancient and potent. There was nothing subtle about it.

The wards around Hogwarts teased him with lingering and seductive caresses before turning into hard, painful hands that pulled and clawed at him. His insides twisted in denial as the wards took on the role of a personal tormentor. He moaned fiercely, slamming his eyes closed tightly, watching as white dots danced beneath his closed eyelids. When the fingers closed tightly around his stomach and torso, overpowering Izar with its magic, he found himself blacking out for seconds at a time before his determination grounded himself back in reality.

When the claws unhooked themselves from his insides, gentle fingers of the wards soothed him and whispered sweet words of encouragement.

_Come with us… _

As soon as Izar refused, the claws would hook back into him, beginning the endless cycle all over again.

It had been easier to resist and stand his ground against the endless attacks when Dumbledore first threw him into the wards. But now, after the unending pain and gentle coaxing, Izar was finding it hard to bring himself back down to reality when the pain grabbed hold of him. He was afraid, that once he lost all sense of reality, Dumbledore's ritual would be complete. Izar would lose his physical body and become one with the wards.

And it frightened him. There were times he was afraid to die, but he usually accepted it soon after. But _this_. This wasn't just death; this was an endless existence of nothingness, of being trapped around Hogwarts and forced to protect it against any threat.

The wards were obsessed with Izar. Magic had its own personality, he knew. Earlier, when he had stood outside the wards and tried to tear them down, they had cooperated, albeit reluctantly. They had wanted to please him. But now that he was _inside _the wards, he had no control over them and they were more than happy to oblige to Dumbledore's ritual and consume him whole.

Izar arched his back up as the claw-like magic pierced him again, sending his mind spiraling in a black abyss. It would be so easy to give in, to stop the pain. And yet, the presence standing solidly beside him reminded Izar that he wasn't that weak. "_Tom_!" Izar called helplessly into the ground.

The Black heir trembled against the onslaught of pain and magic. He had always loved magic, no matter the depth or the temperament. While he was going through the worse mental and physical pain he had ever experienced, he still thought the wards were something incredible. The whispers of the past spoke to him. If he listened too close, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to resist following the strong current of magic.

The pain slowly ebbed away and Izar prepared himself for the next phase in the cycle—the seductive caresses and promises. Only, the hands grabbing his face seemed more solid than they had before. The warmth was so unbelievably soothing that Izar wanted nothing but to bask in it for eternity.

"_Izar, come back to me." _

Oh, but Hogwarts' wards were good! The voice calling him was softer than the voices from before, far more placating. If he had to endure this over and over again, he knew he would never be able to resist losing grasp of reality and succumbing.

A hand stroked his cheek softly, almost reassuringly. Izar felt his cold-blooded and lifeless body turn pleasantly _warm_. He had never felt this warm before, even when he was human. It wasn't scorching hot, just a comfortable and lulling warmth.

"_Izar, _open your eyes."

He frowned deeply. He was still able to feel the wards, but the warmth, the cocoon, seemed to ward away the whispers of Hogwarts' past and stop the prying fingers from reaching him. Blinking open his eyes, he found himself kneeling on the ground with his Death Eater mask lying abandoned near his legs. How had his body moved without his knowledge? Had he really been that close to surrendering to the magic that he hadn't noticed when he sat up?

Izar exhaled sharply, his mind still struggling to catch up to speed. His body hadn't lifted in a kneeling position by itself; instead, two hands were placed on his face, holding him upright. Everywhere he looked, he was surrounded by a thick veil of gold magic, and yet, the woman standing before him was just as noticeable.

"Mom?" he asked in a daze, not grasping what he was seeing. His mind was still sluggish as he stared up at her in reverence. She was beautiful, simply stunning. She seemed to radiate a blinding white light that blurred her facial features into a vague glow. The only thing recognizable was the liquid-clear green eyes and the long red hair. Izar would go as far and say she was an angel. His angel. But he didn't deserve to be touched by an angel; he would undoubtedly tarnish something of such purity.

She smiled, tightening her hold on his face as he continued to stare numbly. Her touch was so warm and it spread around him as if it were coddling him. Was this a mother's embrace? A _real _mother's embrace?

Izar's lips trembled as he gave a choked sob. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he balked at the idea of showing such raw emotion—such weak emotion. But he couldn't control himself or his actions. He was putty in her hands, such _beautiful _hands. It might have been heaven. Though, it was such a laughable notion.

There was a part of him that was painfully aware of his current position and situation, but the other part of him wanted to enjoy this obliviousness.

Her thumb stroked his cheek and his lashes closed just briefly but opened a moment later when he felt her forehead touch his. He stared up at her in child-like wonder, observing her as she closed her eyes and inhaled his hair. "I always wished things could have turned out like this," she whispered softly. "With me holding you… but life is cruel."

"Cruel…" Izar repeated, trying to sharpen his mind. "Always cruel."

She issued a breathy chuckle, understanding his state of confusion. Her nails softly stroked his cheeks, sending pleasant chills down Izar's spine. "You're so beautiful, Izar," she praised softly. "I regret many things, but always remember I never regretted bringing you into this world. I only regretted how it was done."

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed with the warmth she was omitting. Nevertheless, it didn't last long. His mind suddenly churned, digging up his quick thinking and mental intelligence. Grudgingly, he began to understand their current position. How had she stepped into the wards with him? Where was Dumbledore? Why wasn't he stopping Lily? And Voldemort? Both Lords were nearby, he could feel their auras, but they weren't doing _anything_.

And then there was Lily… he finally understood why he felt so warm and why there was a light surrounding her. She was sacrificing herself for him, a mother's sacrifice.

Opening his eyes, he assessed the bright glow around her and was finally capable of spying the magical traces buried between the multiple layers. There was nothing more powerful and purer than a mother's sacrifice. Izar wasn't used to experiencing Light Magic, but he was drowning in it now. This sacrifice Lily was giving could undue any curse, any charm, and it could put a stop to anything in the path of the child. There was only one stipulation; the mother had to give her life for her son.

He didn't know why he felt a sharp pang of grief overcome him. But he didn't push it away as he sat up straighter, curling his hands around her weakening arms and supporting her weight. By now, Hogwarts' wards were diverting away from him and eating away at Lily. He could see the minuscule black, rune-like magic leaving him and curling around her. She was trying to remain standing, but Izar could feel her body begin to tremble.

Izar gave an experimental tug at Dumbledore's ritual, hoping to be able to smother it with his magic-sensitivity, but it only buried deeper inside Lily. The wards were hungry and they would be getting a meal as promised.

She pulled her forehead away from his and stared tiredly down at him. Already, he could see her body begin to fade. She wasn't fighting the ritual like Izar had.

His back stiffened when she leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. Her exhales were coming out in small tremors, proof of her body shutting down. "Promise me, Izar…" she began hoarsely. "Please, put my soul to rest."

His curled fingers tightened around her small arms and he met her desperate stare head on. She didn't think he would even consider her request, he knew. Like any other human, she was frightened of death. Yet, there was a hint of peace on her face at the prospect of finally being whole again. She only asked Izar to release her soul from the wards. And with his magic-sensitivity, he was confident he could tear down the wards and release her with it.

"I will," he vowed gently. What else was there to say when he was staring at the woman who sacrificed her entire soul for him? One half of her soul was sent inside the Veil to defend him against Cygnus and the other was given freely to free him from Dumbledore's ritual. "I hope…" he trailed off when the light and warmth began to fade quickly. "I hope you know you can finally rest in peace. Mother. You have redeemed yourself."

She smiled brightly, reaching out to brush a stray curl from his face. He prepared himself for her touch, realizing he was welcoming it, but her fingers never made contact with him. She had vanished, taking the warmth with her.

And just as quickly, reality hit him hard.

A cold hand grabbed his neck, pulling him back into an even colder environment. He shivered, though not from the cold, and landed in the hard snow. Just as his back made contact, a scream of denial pierced the battle-heavy atmosphere. He turned his cheek into the snow, staring at James Potter from the other side of the wards. The raw emotion of sorrow and grief was oddly familiar to Izar, and he realized he had experienced it when Sirius had died. And even now…

Crimson eyes invaded Izar's vision, crowding him and standing over him protectively. Though, the fingers fisting his robes were anything but protective. The Dark Lord's expression was tightly closed but the man's aura was in disarray. "Can you take down the wards?" the man demanded sharply.

Izar blinked, dizzy. "Just give me a few minutes and they'll be down."

Voldemort hissed. "We don't have a few minutes." The Dark Lord then stood up sharply, pushing Izar aside with his foot.

Izar rolled a few feet away, growing angry and frustrated at Voldemort's actions. Just as he was about to retort about the man's lack of decency, the snow exploded where Izar was once laying, He started, snapping his neck around and observing Dumbledore from the other side of the wards. The old bloody fool was approaching the wards from the other side, attacking both Voldemort and Izar with ferocity. He was playing unfair. Voldemort's spells couldn't get past the tweaked wards, but Dumbledore was free to attack, forcing Voldemort on the defensive.

Izar clutched a handful of snow with his leather gloves and closed his eyes. Ever since he found out who Lily Potter was and what she sacrificed for him, Izar had conveniently pushed her from his thoughts and mind. He never let himself think too long on her and he had to do the same now. Now certainly wasn't the time to mourn the woman who created a Horcrux for his protection and then proceed to live an emotionless life before sacrificing herself for him once again.

At any rate, he promised her he would put her soul to rest. The only way to do that would be to destroy the wards around Hogwarts in whole. After this battle, after things settled down, he would think long and hard on Lily Potter, his mother.

He pushed himself off of the ground and sprinted alongside the ward barrier. There was still lightning veining the dome of wards, looking peculiarly striking in contrast to the falling snow, but it had dulled as soon as Lily was absorbed.

Running his fingers along the wards, Izar focused on the magic thrumming beneath his touch. He was familiar with it, just as it was familiar with him. It would be incredibly easy to tear down the whole blanket of wards now that he had almost become a part of them. The only problem? Having enough focus to pull them apart with Dumbledore on his bloody tail.

The Black heir surveyed the old wizard from the corner of his eye as the Light Lord kept up his pace with the aid of magic. Voldemort followed with just as much vigor, refusing to be outdone by an old man.

"You're fucking persistent, I'll give you that," Izar growled, planting his foot in the snow and pivoting around to face the wards. He slammed his hands on the wards, causing a deep resonance to sound across the snowy grounds.

He met Dumbledore's eyes through the gold veil, never hating a man as much as he did currently. With concentrated determination, he pulled at the magic from around the wards, making it travel through his body. Again, he was assaulted with the whispers of the past and the tantalizing pull of the magic as it raced through him. But this time, _he _was in control of _it. _Behind him, he could hear the Hogwarts' glass and windows shatter as he pulled the wards from their ancient roots.

As soon as Dumbledore raised his wand, Izar pulled his hands away from the wards just barely—shuddering as Hogwarts' magic roared through him. "For Lily," Izar whispered.

Dumbledore threw an inferno in his direction, one large enough to consume Izar whole. But as soon as it left the man's wand, Izar slammed his hands back against the barrier, appearing as if he were pushing through the gold barrier. And as his hands broke through the solid wall of magic, he released the built-up magic flowing through him and destroyed the outer-most wards.

The excessive amount of magic caused a force-like eruption. While Izar was directing the broken wards in Dumbledore's direction, the force was so great that it backfired at _him_.

He was lifted off his feet and sent flying. Izar clenched his lips together before he gave a delighted laugh, not even stopping as he was deposited harshly onto the ground. He spread his arms out around his body, making tracks in the snow beneath him. Odd… he never _had _made a snow angel before. It seemed like an appropriate time to make one, considering he had just torn down the oldest, most powerful set of wards in Great Britain.

Izar leaned his head into the snow, ignoring the eerie quiet that reverberated across the grounds. The army was flabbergasted at what had just happened, Izar knew. Though, hopefully they were impressed, because _he _was even impressed with himself. Sadly, it didn't take long for the fighting to continue among the Death Eaters and the Ministry, for he heard magic and curses being passed back and forth between the crowds a few yards away from his current position.

Chaos would erupt shortly. The two groups were still in quiet surprise over Hogwarts' lack of _magic_. Soon, the students and the professors would either herd together inside the castle, escape, or join the fray.

Until that time…

Izar kicked his arms and legs out, creating a snow angel beneath him. His green eyes stared at the sky above him, observing the snowflakes as they slowly drifted into focus. Without the soft and yellowed glow from Hogwarts, the only thing left to light the grounds was the half moon and the curses being released from their owners' wands. He smiled thinly, finding himself feeling rather numb despite the situation that transpired earlier.

He issued a controlled moan. _Lily_…

"What… are you doing?"

Izar gave the towering man a look of disdain. "Exactly what it looks like, My Lord."

Voldemort's lips thinned as he watched Izar create a deeper snow angel. "They did warn me that the Black insanity was strong within you. Observably, I hadn't given it proper consideration." A pause. "Until now."

While Voldemort was light in his mocking, Izar could see the man deeper than that. There was a knowing glint in the crimson eyes as they watched Izar in the snow. The Dark Lord believed Izar was averting his focus and attention away from reality in order to avoid thinking about his mother or his near-death experience.

Was he? Possibly… no, most certainly. He had almost been absorbed into the Hogwarts' wards. And he had all but melted into _her _arms like a wanton newborn searching for his mother's breast. Izar had been taken off-guard by Dumbledore. There was this _nagging _feeling that Izar could have prevented everything that transpired in the last few minutes. He could have prevented it, maybe, but it appeared as if Lily had known about this for quite some time. She had been waiting in the shadows until Izar had been caught inside the wards. Even _she _could have prevented it.

And yet, she hadn't. She chose this route. Almost if she were… as if she _wanted _to die for a cause she believed would put her to rest finally.

"Your army can fend for themselves for a moment," Izar grinned bitterly up at the sky. "Besides, we have other problems to deal with…"

Voldemort dropped Izar's wand and mask on his chest, obviously not batting an eyelash as he stepped in the path of one of Izar's swinging arms. "Get up," the man ordered sharply. "We have a battle to continue."

Izar gave a deep hum, swinging his head to the side and pressing his cheek into the snow. He gave the Dark Lord an intense stare, a small smirk crossing his lips. "While Scrimgeour _is _a tempting prospect, he will have to wait. Like I said, we have other problems to deal with." Izar sighed, sitting up from his position and examining the angel. From the corner of his eye, he watched as their other _guests _appear. "The French are here."

The Dark Lord turned quickly at Izar's words, squinting down at the battle. Izar followed the man's line of vision, studying the Death Eaters briefly. They were holding their own. But not for long. Another group was Apparating behind the Ministry. Combined, their numbers easily outnumbered the Death Eaters. But one aura, in particular, was what caught Izar's attention.

Voldemort abruptly crouched next to Izar, successfully averting the younger wizard's eyes away from the battle. "I want my revenge," Izar whispered ominously, daring Voldemort to disagree.

While Dumbledore was on his list of most-hated wizards, there was only _one _witch on that list. His eyelids grew hooded as he was brought back to the Triwizard Tournament. Airi Roux and her fiancé, the French Minister, had been killed by Voldemort in retaliation for targeting Izar during the Tournament. But the French Minister had been oblivious to Airi's actions. In fact, even Airi was clueless to what was really happening.

She claimed she was working for her father, Lord Acelin Morel. And many believed Lord Morel was the Dark Lord of France and that he targeted Izar out of his dislike for Tom Riddle. But they were _all _puppets to _her_. Everyone was a mere pawn in the game between Lord Voldemort and Lady Marjolaine, including Izar. He was nothing but a way to get at Tom Riddle, a way to insult him. And if there was one thing Izar despised, it was being controlled and manipulated.

"You have Dumbledore to deal with, wherever he is…" Izar continued. He stood carefully from his angel, stepping outside the markings. "I want _her_—"

His face was grabbed roughly by Voldemort before his lips were forced into a bruising kiss. The man's long fingernails ripped the skin on Izar's cheeks as soon as the man pulled away. The markings were meant to be a claim, a sense of ownership, and a painful message for Izar to keep his mind grounded and focused.

The Dark Lord turned his heel, luring Izar to follow. "You and I will be partners for this battle," the man spoke levelly. "The very first sign I see of your loss of control, we depart. We've already accomplished enough for Riddle to take over office."

"But we need to eliminate as many Ministry and Order members as possible," Izar argued sharply, needing another reason to stay and fight Marjolaine.

Voldemort turned his heel before grabbing Izar's robes and thrusting him close. "Clear your head, you foolish boy. This is not about _her_ and your revenge. This is about _our _game. Yours and mine." Crimson eyes were bright as they pierced through Izar. "Undoubtedly, we need to destroy as many adversaries as we can, yes. But you will not lose sight of this goal just to extract your revenge."

It was rich hearing those words come from the Dark Lord's mouth. It was about control, _right_, just as the man controlled himself in the face of torture. Though, as Izar calmed down, he realized Voldemort was right. Izar's ability would be put to good use by destroying as many enemies as he could get his hands on. Maybe after killing off a good handful of wizards, he could turn his attention on Marjolaine, the woman who had manipulated both Izar and Lord Morel to the point of ludicrous.

As if sensing Izar's acceptance of his words, Voldemort smirked arrogantly.

"Smug bastard," Izar hissed, bumping the man's shoulder on his way down the hill. He pulled on the gold Death Eater mask, preparing himself to jump right into the fray. "You better keep up with me, old man. I'm less than happy trading a decent partner like Bellatrix for someone as worn as yourself."

Suddenly, the ground below Izar's feet turned to ice. His boot caught the slick element and he went down clumsily. As he sat up, dumbfounded, he watched as Voldemort passed him elegantly. Almost too elegantly. "It's _you _who needs to keep up, child. Look at how distasteful you look…" the man tsked at Izar before leaving him behind.

Izar scoffed.

Let the games begin.

He stood up carefully, brushing his hands down his robes. To his right, the castle caught his attention. He froze, staring at Hogwarts for a moment. The normal luminosity around the castle was absent, sending a cold and depressed appearance to settle around the structure. Only a few windows were lit, but inside, he was sure the students were too frantic to pay much attention to re-lighting the castle.

He had done that. He had stripped the powerful castle down to the bones, shedding light on its nudity. Somehow, his sense of accomplishment turned sour for reasons he'd rather not analyze.

His eyes swept upward, giving a passing thought to his mother as he watched the falling snow.

"You don't even seem to care," a voice whispered deliriously behind him.

Izar turned calmly, eyeing James Potter impassively over his shoulder. The younger wizard tightened his gloves, noticing in slight disenchantment that Potter was standing in the cusp of his snow angel. Pity, it had looked so beautiful.

"Maybe I don't," Izar responded tightly.

Silence came from Potter and Izar had faced back forward. The battle was leaning in favor of the Ministry and the Order, while the Dark Lord was lingering at the outskirts of the crowd. He was waiting for Izar, the irritated line across his forehead mere proof of his impatience.

"I loved her," the man whispered distressingly. Potter swallowed thickly, keeping his stance sturdy. "And I know she loved you. At least show a bit of remorse or gratitude that your sorry arse is still alive because of her."

Izar glanced at the man once again over his shoulder. There were no tears streaming down the man's cheeks as Izar had originally thought. Instead, Potter's nostrils were flared and his eyes were oddly bright. Even his stance was tall despite his disconsolate aura. Izar had always respected Potter. And this time was no different. Hell. Maybe that was the reason his thoughts centered on actually showing his sympathy.

The Black heir turned and began to make his way down to the battle before he found himself staying behind and mourning with Potter. "Inform me when her funeral is," he spoke to the man at his back. "That is the place where I will show my respects."

The only response Izar got was a _crack _of Disapparation.

Well, apparently Potter wasn't gracing anyone with his support tonight. With good reason, he supposed. A distracted mind did not benefit one's ability in battle.

With that in mind, Izar sharpened his focus back on the matter at hand.

Competing with Voldemort. And to think, the man already had a head start.

* * *

{**Notes**} A relatively short chapter, yes, I know, but a very difficult one for me to write. I had to end it here because continuing wouldn't flow right… plus, I needed to clear my head of this chapter. Meh. Thanks, everyone!


	67. Part II Chapter 35

**-Warnings: **Again: Blood, not-so-much gore, death, emotional stuff, and _grammar_ mistakes. Much of those. :D

Thanks to all of you who reviewed last chapter. "How many chapters are left?" *Smirk* Well, if I told you that, I might give things away. You'll know when it's over when the end of the chapter says 'End'. ALSO, I know it's been a rocky updating schedule and there are things you (and I) might have forgotten in the course of the chapters. One thing I want to remind you of is that Voldemort's Horcruxes are not _real. _The only people who know they aren't real are Izar, Lucius, and Voldemort (I think…) Most of them have already been destroyed, the Gaunt Ring is the most important Horcrux in this story. Well, besides Lily's Horcrux (the only real Horcrux in the story) that no one knew about but her own son.

**Chapter Thirty Five**

"…you're an idiot if you think I'm going to let you do this, Hermione."

Draco pressed his back into the corner of the room, staring unseeingly at the darkness surrounding him. Just around the sharp corner and past the junk piled on top of each other, two Gryffindor's were standing in front of a piece of jewelry. A diadem, to be exact. If Draco closed his eyes hard enough, his mind could give him an accurate picture of what the diadem looked like. He spent hours staring at it after he received it from Izar. He knew the place of each sapphire and each diamond as they aligned the metal. And he also remembered exactly what it _felt _like.

He rolled his neck and stared up at the ceiling. The dark was getting familiar to him now. It had been almost an hour since the lights and the magic had been smothered out of the castle, leaving the building cold and eerie. The students had been in an uproar with the sudden feeling of vulnerability and witnessing the battle outside the shattered windows, but the professors had begun to transport the students out of Hogwarts and into a safe location. Now that there were no wards or magic surrounding the castle, people were free to Disapparate if needed.

It was a mess, but it was also Izar's work. Draco could think of no other who had the power to rip apart the wards of an ancient castle. The immobile staircases, the empty picture frames, the extinguished candles, _everything _was dead and gone. While it was difficult for Draco to see all the destruction, with the windows broken and the enchantments gone, he was also thankful… of Izar. The Death Eaters stayed away from the castle and didn't see it worth their time tormenting students when the castle was already in shambles. There would be no unnecessary deaths when it came to the students unless they were foolish enough to join the fray at the bottom of the hill.

War made him feel ill and disconcerted. The Mark on his left forearm declared his loyalty and duty to fight with his comrades. Instead, he found himself staying away. Thinking on it, Draco thought back to that morning he spoke to Izar at the Malfoy Manor during Yuletide. He had heatedly denied being a Death Eater just because Lucius wanted him to be. But naturally, like everything else, Izar was right.

Draco freely admitted that he was not meant to be a Death Eater. He still wanted to make his father proud, yes, but within the last few months, he felt as if his maturity had come to a completion. Impressing his father wasn't all that mattered in the world. His father loved him and would rather see Draco happy than doing something that made him miserable.

Lucius had a playmate with Izar when it came to battles and wars. Draco could share his father with another, especially when he already owed so much to the younger Black. But when the battles stopped, Lucius would always come back to Draco with no grudge against his son's lack of interest in the war.

Last night, Draco and Daphne had assumed they would fight in the battle. In fact, they believed it so much that they had to be comforted by the other in order to fend off the apprehension.

His cheeks reddened and he gave a wicked smirk in the dark, paying little attention to the two behind him as they bickered. Last night had been… bloody _brilliant. _And when this was all over, the war, the deaths, he would take the proper steps with Daphne in order to complete the courting ritual. Or, at least he intended to.

When the professors began evacuating the students, Draco convinced Daphne to leave with them. Unsurprisingly, her temper had flared and they had argued long and hard. It was only when Draco agreed to come with her that she reluctantly decided to escape Hogwarts with the others.

There was just _one _little errand he had to take care of before he met her in the Great Hall.

"You know… you know what happened to my father when he went after Voldemort's serpent," the boy sniffed and Draco raised his eyebrows. He had heard Arthur Weasley had died. He just hadn't known the details.

"Ron," the witch soothed. "We need to destroy this. _I _need to. I'm well aware of what happens to the one who destroys the Horcrux. As part of the Order, it's _our _duty to destroy them and, in turn, destroy the Dark Lord."

A Horcrux? What the bloody hell was _that_? Whatever it was, it wasn't a bloody crown. Draco might have been oblivious to what the object was, but he remembered specifically that Izar told him it was important to the Dark Lord. And that's why Draco was here.

"Why can't we bring it toDumbledore, Hermione?" the boy pressed passionately. "He never told us we had to destroy anything. He just told us to keep our eyes open for anything suspicious. When we saw Malfoy carry it in here, we were doing our duty. Bringing the Horcrux to Dumbledore is our duty. _Destroying _it is not our duty." The boy remained silent for a long while and Draco clutched his wand. "Please, Hermione. I can't lose you too. I already lost my father when he destroyed the serpent and Bill when he went after the cup in Gringotts. Not you too."

The girl seemed to hesitate and Draco scoffed lightly. Poor Weasel. A father and brother dead. It was _war_ and with a family that disgustingly large, there would obviously be some casualties. The Weasley's made up half the Wizarding population, for Merlin's sake.

"A-alright," she conceded. "We'll take the diadem with us and when the battle is over, assuming Dumbledore survives, we'll bring him the Horcrux."

And… enter Draco.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that." Draco turned the corner, watching in the dim lighting as the two jumped and pointed their wands at him. "You see, I was assigned to protect _that_. I can't let you walk out of here with it." For good measure, Draco locked the door leading out to the Room of Requirement. Just as quickly, he blocked Granger's hex as it came flying across the space between them.

"Please, Malfoy," she begged. "You don't understand—"

Maybe a few weeks ago Draco would be affected by her pleading. Instead, he envisioned his father's hope for the future with the Dark Lord leading the people. Her pleading resonated off his ears, affecting him very little. It was surprising that he was able to tune her out. After years of sniffing after her and imagining different futures with her, she paled in comparison to a certain blond witch.

"No, I _do_ understand, Mudblood. Get your filthy fingers off it."

Suddenly, Weasley took the box from Granger and sprinted toward the exit. Draco blinked, scoffing at the redhead before ducking behind a pile of rubbish in order to avoid Granger's hexes. With renowned vigor, Draco took careful aim at the sprinting Weasley. In wicked anticipation, Draco threw a slicing hex, catching the boy's ankle. For a moment, he watched in wide-eyed wonder as blood splattered everywhere. Weasley went down, crying out hoarsely and clutching the stub of his leg.

"Ron!" Granger cried.

Draco leaped out from behind the pile of junk, intent on making _her _bleed just as well. But she wasn't standing where he'd left her. And without much warning, the pile of trinkets in front of him exploded from Granger's curse as she ran past him and toward the fallen form of Weasley. Draco barely had time to cover his head before the large pile cascaded on top of him. He hissed, blasting the objects out of his way before charging at the two Gryffindors as they neared the exit.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Granger had quick reflexes. As soon as Draco was able to stand on solid ground, she whipped around, a nasty curse already leaving her wand. She was able to defend herself and remain sharp, all the while supporting a whimpering Weasley with the other arm. She was a clever and strong witch, but Draco was capable enough to meet her onslaught. After all, he'd been taught by the notorious Lucius Malfoy.

Bracing himself in a defensive stance, Draco absorbed her _Expelliarmus _and _Cleoreso _hex into his rebounding shield. It had taken him a whole year to perfect this shield and even so, this was the first time putting it to the test.

Draco gave a grunt as he expelled his arms outward, throwing the curses back at Granger. She appeared startled and taken aback as Draco succeeded in the rebounding shield. With as much dignity as she could muster, she attempted to conjure her own shield. Though, she wasn't fast enough. Draco watched as she was thrown backward, losing her wand in the process. He reached out, grabbing the flying wand and smirking as a large table full of trinkets caught Granger's fall. The witch fell unconscious, looking as if she wouldn't wake up anytime soon.

Turning to Weasley, Draco pointed both wands at the fallen boy, pausing for just a minute as he contemplated on killing the boy. He could… couldn't he? Draco hesitated, pursing his lips and his eyebrows furrowing. Years of training, years of boosting that he would be like his father, years of claiming he had killed before… they all seemed like a foolish way to waste his time. He couldn't kill like this. He couldn't. Weasley's eyes were large as he stared dumbly back at Draco. They had hated each other since First Year. How could Draco just stand there like an idiot?

Instead, Draco focused his attention on the box Weasley clutched. The two stared at one another before looking at the box the crown laid in.

"_Accio diadem_!"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Draco grimaced as both wands were torn from his grasp, but eased when he realized they landed perfectly in between Weasley and himself. And just as well, the box the diadem rested inside spun to a stop near the two wands. It appeared as if both spells cancelled out one another, or as much as they could given the circumstances.

The only problem? Draco was standing in front of an armed Weasley, completely defenseless.

Knowing Weasley wouldn't have enough guts to kill him, Draco threw all his trepidations behind and raced toward the two wands and the diadem. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Weasley struggled to sit up in the blood-bath surrounding him.

He could make it. He could—

Oh… _fuck. _

Draco stopped in his tracks, staring in horror as the uncontrollable flames exploded from Weasley's wand and toward him and the diadem. The boy most likely wanted to destroy the diadem but he didn't have enough control over the Fiendfyre Curse to keep it under reign.

Draco gave a hoarse cry as he turned his heel and sprinted as quickly as he could _away _from the flames. Behind him, he could hear the distinctive sound of Weasley screaming. His mind was in chaos as he sobbed in distress. He didn't have a wand and he was running _away _from the exit. The flames were licking at his heels. He knew. He knew what this would come to. Never before had he experienced this amount of fear and terror.

At least his death would be for a worthy cause. While the Dark Lord's Horcrux had been destroyed, Draco had done his very best to protect it. Hopefully his father would see it as that much.

As the flames crawled up his robes, Draco squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his cheeks. He barely had time to imagine his family before the heat overwhelmed him and sent him in a state of obliviousness. In the darkness, he imagined himself being cascaded with cool water, a sweet reprieve from the prodigious heat.

**{Death of Today}**

The long and tapered hand caressed Izar's back in agonizing slowness as he and Voldemort spun around each other in order to trade places. Behind his mask, Izar smirked, well aware of the Dark Lord's possessive and overprotective manner tonight. It had to do with Voldemort's suspicions of Izar's upcoming death, but who said it hadn't already happened and Lily had been the one to save him?

No matter, now wasn't the time to think on it. He had never battled with Voldemort as his partner before. It had always been Bellatrix. And if there was one thing every Death Eater knew, it was that Izar and Bellatrix were meant to be partners. They were both in sync, they were both ruthless, and they were quick. And if one of them were shot down, it wouldn't slow the other down with an onslaught of emotional distress.

And yet, Bellatrix was trained by the Dark Lord to duel and battle. If anything, Voldemort should mirror her and be a decent partner with Izar. But he wasn't. He was _better _than Bellatrix. It had taken Izar a few minutes to adapt to Voldemort's style, but as soon as he adjusted, the two were able to cooperate together as if they were a single entity. Izar would easily say that thiswas the only time he and Voldemort were ever this in tune with one another for a common goal. There was no arrogance and no stubbornness getting in their way as they worked together. _Together_.

It was exhilarating. Voldemort challenged Izar by opening up more senses than he ever used in battle before. With Voldemort, Izar found himself being distinctively attentive of the man's actions at his back. He was aware of the wizards wanting to attack Voldemort at all angles, even the cowardly ones who lunged at the Dark Lord's blind spot. It may have been a downside to dueling with Voldemort for that very same reason, but the Dark Lord made up for it by being just as aware. If Izar ever stopped the enemy coming at Voldemort's vulnerable side and failed to see a curse coming in _his _direction, the Dark Lord would somehow be able to stop it before it even reached Izar.

Another positive attribute about being partners on a battlefield with a Dark Lord was that the prey approached _them_. They were drawn to the Dark Lord like a moth to flame. It should have been the other way around, with Aurors too frightened to approach the Lord, but they were smart enough to realize that if they destroyed the leader, then they destroyed the army.

Too bad they didn't realize the Dark Lord was being protected by a magic-sensitive.

Izar threw his elbow back, attempting to connect it with an Auror's face. He considered the current battle. It wasn't like anything Hogwarts taught at school. Sure, professors would organize dueling tournaments or in-class demonstrations, but no one ever broached the topic of _war_. There was no respectful distance opponents gave each other, there was no etiquette as one waited for the other to take their turn casting curses, and there definitely wasn't a professor standing close by, alert and ready in case someone were to get injured.

Instead, bodies littered the ground. So much that Izar found himself having to pay closer attention to where he stepped. The toe of his boots would sometimes land in a corpse's face, catching him off balance and sending both his and the Dark Lord's rhythm off balance. Izar found it bitterly ironic that the corpses on the ground were an overwhelming sight for some and only an inconvenience for others.

The distance between opponents was also something professors hadn't warned the students about in the classroom. Presently, there was barely a foot between everyone as they swam threw the swarm of bodies and sought their next opponent. It was an endless sea of chaos, an overcrowded flock of wizards who could all but reach their enemy with a touch of their fingertips. It came down to who had the quickest reflexes and the best defensive spells. It was also about the wizard who could create a larger perimeter around himself. The larger the perimeter, the more free range he was granted with and the better chance of not being caught off-guard.

And too, the close-range fighting meant that physical combat was needed on occasion.

Izar's eyes widened as his arm was taken by the Auror he intended to elbow in the face. Apparently he had to pick better targets when he decided to fight physically. This wizard had combat skills. Most definitely.

The man swiped at his legs quickly, twisting around Izar's arm in place, snapping it. The Black heir grinned bitterly as he dropped to the ground. He only avoided the Killing Curse by rolling away and flushing his body up close and personal to Voldemort's earlier victim. Through his mask, Izar considered the corpse, noticing the gruesome and quick way Voldemort had killed his prey. The Dark Lord had grown bored of the _Avada Kedavra _about five Aurors into the battle and decided to try his best at killing creatively.

Izar pondered if the Dark Lord really was as _bored _as he claimed with the Killing Curse, or if he had just wanted to try to impress Izar with his show of power and inventiveness.

"I'm not impressed," Izar growled up at the Dark Lord as the man gutted the Auror whom Izar had earlier battled with. "You keep taking my kill!"

Red eyes briefly appraised his sprawled out form before turning to his next opponent. "I apologize, I should have known by your current position that you had things under control."

_Smart arse_. Izar pushed himself up fluidly and pressed himself against the Dark Lord's back as a French man charged at him. He easily batted away the man's attacks, both irritated and amused with Voldemort. The Dark Lord was piling up his body count with ridiculous ease. Half of the bodies were because he kept a close eye on Izar's prey, waiting for the younger wizard to weaken them before jumping in and slaughtering them with a simple wave of his wand.

It was simple entertainment for the Dark Lord, and an endless cycle of exasperation from Izar's perspective. Though, he understood the man's need for amusement. These wizards battling him were just nuisances. They weren't real threats to a Lord of Voldemort's caliber. If most of them were easy for Izar, then he could only imagine what Voldemort was feeling. Dumbledore was Voldemort's only source of challenge and Izar found that hard to swallow.

He wondered what it would be like to duel Voldemort. Would he hold up longer than the Aurors were currently? Izar liked to think so. He had improved vastly and was even able to hold his own against Dumbledore. He wanted to experience dueling Voldemort and he wanted to be able to do it without making a fool of himself.

The man's magic was overwhelmingly tantalizing. Despite the cold atmosphere with the strong winds and constant snowfall, the Dark Lord seemed to radiate a muggy heat that warmed the perimeter around him. There was no snow beneath their feet, nothing but blood, gore, and intoxicating power that assumed the form of knee-depth fog. Izar could only invoke fabricated dreams of being as powerful as Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore.

Experiencing a bout of intense jealousy, Izar snarled, bending the French wizard's knee backward and taking a step forward for the kill. Only, Voldemort reached over Izar's head and took aim, exploding the man's chest from the inside out.

Rage colored Izar's vision and he gave a sound of immense displeasure. "If you keep taking _my _kills, I'll be extremely unhappy because I haven't worn off my repressed energy. You don't want to deal with me when I'm like that." He irritably brushed away his jealousy, knowing full-well that's what caused wizards to go mad. They strived to be something they weren't, that they couldn't _possibly _be. And their failure ended up destroying them.

"I know exactly what you can do to remedy that pent-up energy," the man implied huskily. "And it has nothing to do with the battle."

Izar scowled. "As if I would give you the satisfaction, you bloody bastard."

"It would be far more productive and enjoyable than _this_," he continued as if he hadn't heard Izar. The tall man then bowed, intentionally causing a curse to fly past Izar's ear.

Not even hesitating, the younger wizard threw up his arm, swinging it around and batting the curse back over Voldemort's head. He exhaled loudly in satisfaction when he heard the sound of an Auror issuing a startled and pained cry. Casting an exasperated look at Voldemort, Izar turned back around. "Don't flatter yourself."

A pleased chuckle escaped from the Dark Lord as he slowly slithered around the Black heir, pressing a hand against Izar's back. "I enjoy playing with you, child. Your presence will always be a source of enjoyment for me."

Izar smiled grimly behind his mask, unable to resist catching the split-crimson eyes with his own. He didn't get a chance to retort, for a desperate cry sounded besides them. Both wizards turned, watching as a red-faced Order member came charging at them, his eyes wide and deranged. Izar and Voldemort turned back to one another, pondering, before both stepping aside and causing the wizard to run past them. It wasn't long before a cackling Bellatrix came running after the Order member, her eyes just as wide and deranged as her target.

Izar barely had time to comprehend the situation before his wrist was taken by Bellatrix. He was pulled away from Voldemort, not pleased with the sense of vulnerability washing over him the further he distanced himself.

"Thank you, my dear," Izar crooned in gratitude as he followed his distant aunt. He was extremely pleased that Bellatrix pulled him away. Not only had he found himself being consumed with Voldemort's power, but he had also found himself becoming reliant on the solid body beside him. It was not a smart thing to become accustomed to, especially in the midst of battle. While it was true that they were particularly well-paired partners, it wasn't Izar's character to rely on someone so heavily.

She looked back at him, her dark eyes briefly revealing understanding before they brightened into one of excitement as she chased her prey. Izar followed, noticing the Order member they were chasing had no wand on him. Smirking and feeling his adrenaline rise to heightened levels, he followed in hot pursuit, finding it just as pleasing to attack the surrounding wizards on the run.

**{Death of Today}**

Lucius narrowed his eyes into the roaring winds, bracing himself against the environmental elements as he stared at Alastor Moody. It seemed like it had taken years to make his way through the thick crowd before he finally reached the man who had disfigured him—who had almost killed him.

Powerful in his own right, Moody had quite the pile of lifeless Death Eaters lying at his feet. Seeing his comrades so distastefully disposed of, Lucius raised his wand opposite of Moody's turned face and fired. The distracted Auror barely had time to fend off his other opponent, let alone block Lucius' curse. The spell caught Alastor's left eye. Lucius could only stare in suppressed elation as the Auror's eye came out from his socket and bounced once at his feet. Yes, Lucius' hit had been cowardly, but he _so _wanted to see Alastor as disfigured as himself.

For all their past duels, Lucius had been the underdog. Moody had been the one who held the upper hand. But not this time. This time, Lucius' need for revenge warmed his reflexes and improved the quickness of his wand. He was prepared to battle Moody until one of them could no longer duel.

Surprisingly, Moody only let out a howl of pain, squeezing his eyelid closed past the fountain of blood before finishing his duel with a Third Tier Death Eater. Before the Death Eater even hit the ground, Moody lunged toward Lucius, spitting curses in rapid succession. Lucius was in a state of controlled determination as he avoided the string of curses and even returned some of his own past his powerful shields.

This continued, as per usual. Neither of them was giving in to the other's traps or manipulations. Lucius had seen this all before, knowing and predicting exactly what Moody would do next—and vice versa. It was this reason why Lucius had decided to alter his tactics.

He remembered watching Izar duel before and he had also heard about the boy taking Dumbledore by surprise in their last duel. The Black heir truly was a remarkable dueler, especially toward opponents who challenged him. Izar did not go for the immediate kill, or a show of power, instead he used finesse and grace, all the while lulling his enemy into a false sense of confidence. It was almost as if Izar made his enemy comfortable with the pace of the duel before taking an abrupt change of course toward the end.

Also, Izar rarely ever gave into emotion when he dueled. The boy had a logic-framed mind. He was a man of theory and knowledge. Many say that those who wield the Dark Arts are more powerful when they experience emotion behind their attack. And while that may be true, it was also a downfall to dueling. One could become too clouded to enjoy what the art of dueling could really offer, a beautiful dance of the wits.

A Killing Curse followed after Moody's growing impatience and short temper. Lucius planted the toe of his boot into the snow before pivoting backwards, slashing his wand in front of his body and easily dodging the _Avada Kedavra_. His modified slicing hex left his wand, aiming toward Moody's head before taking a sharp dive and nearing the man's legs. As soon as Alastor diverted his shield to cover his legs, Lucius directed another slicing hex toward the man's face.

While his original hex was blocked, his second one almost caught Moody around the neck. Lucius seethed as the man maneuvered his body in a way that avoided his curse entirely. The only body part that wasn't as lucky was the tip of the man's nose. Watching as the appendage fell to the ground, Lucius snapped his heels together, trying to rein his frustration.

"No matter what you try to do, boy, you will never win," Moody barked. "Neither _you _or your army." The man gave a crooked smile. "I'm half-blind and I'm still holding the upper hand."

And then Moody caught Lucius' elbow, exploding the joint. The blond cried out, clenching his teeth together with a mind-numbing force. His hand fell limp and he could barely keep a hold of his wand. His head bowed as he stumbled to avoid another Killing Curse from Alastor.

_Think like Izar. _

His temper was flaring, but he knew as soon as he let it go, this duel would end up like all the others; either in a stalemate or _him _on the ground. Moody was relying on Lucius to act out of rage, like he always did, but he wouldn't allow himself to stoop to that level.

Izar, he—

Lucius' mind froze and all he could remember was Bellatrix informing him about the duel between Dumbledore and Izar. More specifically, what Izar had done to catch the old Headmaster off-guard. The old man likely underestimated Izar, and in turn, Izar had taken him by surprise by a _mirroring _shield at the man's back.

Sending a silent apology toward Izar for stealing the boy's knowledge, Lucius bowed his shoulders forward, a show of fatigue. No Malfoy would ever show his weakness unless it was warranted. Moody knew this and Lucius took advantage of it. He barely avoided another Killing Curse before flicking his wand to the right, casting a nonverbal spell near Moody's head and intentionally missing. After all, his wand arm was essentially shattered at the elbow.

Moody paid no heed to the missed curse behind him and advanced closer. Lucius took a step back, almost salivating at the thought of ensnaring Alastor into one of his traps. He would only need to sacrifice his pride for a few moments and be on the defensive.

Shields were the only thing he could conjure. He made certain to cast off-course curses every once and a while, noticing Alastor had begun to get comfortable with Lucius' off-aim.

As soon as Moody's fourth Killing Curse brushed hotly past Lucius' cheek, the blond finally resorted to the last step in his ploy. He cast another nonverbal spell, this time, it was the mirroring shield that sped past Alastor's shoulder and took residence behind the old Auror. Lucius tried not to observe it for too long, not wanting to draw attention to it.

Alastor's eyes narrowed and he approached Lucius at a quick speed, his wand poised and ready. The blond knew what was coming and he knew he wouldn't be able to dodge it in time. With a calm and steady hand, he aimed over Moody's shoulder and sent the strongest nonverbal severing hex he could conjure past the man and toward the mirroring shield.

"_Avada Kedavr_—"

Lucius' eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat at the nearly completed curse. Only, the old Auror hadn't completed. A deafening squelching sound echoed in Lucius' ears and thick rivulets of blood squirted at him, covering him head to toe in crimson liquid. He flinched for a quick second, startled at the sensation of blood seeping past the holes of his mask and staining his face. Gore was nothing new to him, but he hadn't been expecting his curse to hit Moody so accurately. He had been taken unaware.

He straightened his shoulders and back, standing tall and proud over the fallen figure of Alastor Moody. His pale eyes assessed the twitching form of the Auror, observing the damage. The man's body was cut in half at the torso, sending shock-like twitches across Moody's body as his spinal cord failed him.

Lucius smiled thinly behind his mask, making certain he was the last thing Alastor saw before he died. The notorious Auror glared spitefully at Lucius with one eye before his chest stopped all movement.

Before Lucius had time to absorb his achievement, a loud explosion sounded behind him. He whirled around, staring at the castle in puzzlement. Wizards in green were attacking the castle exterior, trying to create as much destruction as possible. Lucius knew they were the French army. Or, should he say the Dark Lady's forces? Minister Scrimgeour was a fool for allying with Lady Marjolaine. Yes, it got him extra numbers, but it was clear that the Dark Lady had her own agenda. She wanted Britain to herself. She wanted the Dark Lord.

Lucius took a few steps back, observing the battle. Despite his recent accomplishment, he realized that the Death Eaters were on the losing end. They were greatly outnumbered and they were losing numbers quickly. He also noticed a shift of direction. Earlier, the battle had started off as a close-knit crowd, now it was greatly spread out across the grounds of Hogwarts.

He caught sight of two Death Eaters racing toward the French and knew instantly that it was Bellatrix and Izar. Interesting. The last time he caught sight of Izar, he had been battling with the Dark Lord. The two had made an incredible sight. It was a pity they were no longer in the center of the battle together. Though, the Dark Lord wasn't too far behind Izar now.

Lucius wiped his wand on his robes, smearing the blood away. He slowly made his way toward the trio of Dark Wizards, giving a quick glance at the dark castle. Certainly Draco had fled with the rest of the students and was no longer in any immediate danger.

It gave him vast strength knowing that his family was safe.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar leaped over a fallen body and cut the throat of an unsuspecting victim a few yards away from him in midair. He smiled broadly as the Frenchman went down. He wasn't going for finesse right now. He was going for a total body count. And he was doing so on the run.

He sprinted up the hill, chuckling quietly as Bellatrix skipped in between her strides. Her black dress was tattered near the hem and revealed a bit too much when she ran. Her wild curls flew in every which direction as she ran with the wind. In all ways, her appearance mirrored her wild and untamable aura. Izar enjoyed watching her magic dance around her in short and choppy waves.

Bellatrix gave a cry of delight as she gutted a female witch, twirling around like a little girl would after receiving a prize. Izar only ran past her, sending his invented _Abrumpo_ toward the group of French wizards who were currently destroying the school. The fire-like worm slithered up the hill faster than Izar's current pace and sought after its victims. He had given the _Abrumpo _some altercations to make it last longer than one victim and was interested to see how many it could take down.

The curse weaved across the crowd of French wizards, cutting off as many feet as it could encounter before it was stopped by a blasting hex. Izar counted a total of ten that went down, their feet severed from their legs.

"Don't get too cocky," a voice reprimanded from behind him.

Izar clenched his jaw. "Shouldn't you be dueling Dumbledore?"

"My enemy approaches _me_, not the other way around," the Dark Lord replied tartly, stalking Izar from behind.

The Black heir brushed off the Dark Lord's attempts at luring him into an argument before turning back to his current dilemma. A group of French wizards sprinted toward him, curses flying. Izar smiled widely, running up the hill to meet them. Skillfully avoiding the curses sent his way, Izar took a leaf from Voldemort's book and charmed the hill beneath their feet to turn to ice. He planted both heels into the blanket of ice and thrust both hands out to the sides.

"_Tetendi laqueus_," Izar intoned deeply. A glowing grey line stretched from both of his hands and parallel to the French wizards as they slid down the ice. He made sure the taunt spell was low enough to the ground so the wizards couldn't avoid it. With wicked glee, he watched as the spell acted as a sort of sharp wire and severed the bodies sliding into it. The majority of the wizards had their heads decapitated, but others ran into the wire-like curse feet first. _Those _deaths weren't as clean as the others.

One Frenchmen was headed right toward Izar with breakneck speed. As quickly as Izar could, he leaped from the ground. His jump successfully broke the _Laqueus _and freed his wand arm. He could have just jumped and let the Frenchman past him. But in doing so, he would be giving Voldemort a free kill. And Izar was not in the mood to be generous.

As the startled Frenchman slid beneath Izar in mid-jump, the Black heir brought back his wand and slashed it across the man's face. _"__Animus Lapis!"_ His invented curse hit the man in the face just before he slid past Izar.

The young Death Eater landed on the ice in a crouch, turning to observe over his shoulder. The spell began taking affect, stiffening the man's limbs and making him appear like a rigid statue as he spiraled down the icy hill. And as soon as the Frenchman came in contact with Voldemort's feet, his body shattered into pieces. Just like Avery's had when Izar had first tried his spell out.

Izar stood, staring smugly at the Dark Lord. The man smiled thinly from beneath his deep hood, reluctantly appearing impressed. But the smile vanished quickly and deepened into a dark scowl. Around the Dark Lord, the man's aura flared hotly, taking Izar by surprise. It wasn't until Izar felt the approaching aura behind him that he understood he was being targeted. Before he could react, Voldemort beat him to it as he thrust out his arms, releasing a powerful surge of magic.

Pulling his wits together, Izar quickly crouched down to his heels, avoiding Voldemort's magic as it rushed over his head and collided with the string of fire that had been headed in his direction. The younger wizard exhaled in surprise as he felt the two curses collide, sending profound shockwaves across the immediate area. Voldemort's spell had absorbed Dumbledore's curse completely, leaving the two powerful Lords standing across from one another.

Izar, knowing when he wasn't useful, stood up slowly and took a few steps away from the two wizards. Dumbledore seemed to inch ever so slightly in the direction of Izar, but Voldemort batted him another curse the old man had to take care of.

"Keep your attention on _me_, old fool," Voldemort hissed, diverting Dumbledore's attention away from Izar.

Dumbledore easily sent Voldemort's jinx off-course and sent his own back. With his wand as a mere prop, the Dark Lord crossed his forearms in front of his body and braced himself against the curse. When the gold magic hit him, Voldemort seemed to cup and cradled it towards his body, curling himself over it as if he were pained. Voldemort then flung his arms out, giving a roar and releasing the magic. It seemed to have grown double in size at it spiraled toward the old Headmaster. The once gold magic was now tarnished silver with minuscule orange flames licking at the edges.

Izar could only stare. He had only seen Voldemort and Dumbledore duel from a distance, never this up close and personal. And he had never seen Voldemort in this state before. Rumors were that Voldemort was powerful, and others could feel the man's aura at times. But Izar had never really _experienced _Voldemort's full potential. It was exhilarating to see.

The Dark Lord's cloak whipped actively around him and the snow beneath the man's feet began to melt. By now, Voldemort's hood had fallen back, revealing bright crimson eyes and an expression only other Lords could stand opposite of.

Izar's chest warmed in fascination and he reluctantly continued to back away. This wasn't his duel. No matter how much his curiosity wanted him to stay and observe he had others to deal with. At any rate, he had to remind himself that these were _Lords. _They didn't favor magical theory as much as they did raw magic. Izar could never match them in strength, but he did have enough reflexes and magical intelligence to be on par.

He turned away from the two wizards and continued up the hill. Who he saw standing in his way surprised even Izar.

"Minister," he greeted slyly.

"Izar," Rufus responded tightly. The man had recognized him even with the mask on. His yellow eyes surveyed Izar briefly before looking beyond his shoulder. "Remarkable duel."

Izar glanced quickly at Voldemort and Dumbledore as they exchanged curses with remarkable speed. He turned back toward Rufus, bored. "Probably not as remarkable as the destruction your allies are inflicting on Hogwarts. Now _that _is remarkable." As soon as the words left his mouth, another explosion sounded from the castle. Izar taunted the stiff Minister with his eyes. "What's the matter, Minister? Things not going your way?"

Rufus snapped to attention. "We're winning. And that's exactly what I had planned."

Izar gave a deep noise of consideration. "Until the public learns that you enlisted the help from a Dark Lady in France, who, by the way, can't control herself from trying to take over Britain and is currently destroying the home of countless of students. Yes, Rufus, you are ingenious." Izar twirled his wand in between his fingers. "I'm impressed with your aspirations—"

"I will merely blame it on you and your army. After all, it was _you _who tore down the ancient wards of Hogwarts. By now, most the students inside Hogwarts have already escaped to safe-zones and will not be attacked by the French. No harm done. Only a few minor construction repairs and Hogwarts will be back up and running." Rufus took a single step toward Izar. The wind played with his curly mane, acting as a veil from his penetrating stare.

Izar smiled, pleased with Rufus' engrossed stare. "I think a part of you realizes that you're not going to win this time, Rufus. It's the only thing I can think of to explain your complete lack of common sense. You're usually more intelligent than this."

Rufus frowned deeply, raising his wand toward Izar. The Black heir stood calmly, enjoying the snow and strong winds coming in his direction. "Why don't you use your magic-sensitivity?" Rufus demanded sharply.

The Death Eater raised his eyebrows, surprised at the question. "Please, expand."

Rufus twisted his gloved fingers on his wand, searching Izar closely. "You could be invincible if you used your magic-sensitivity against your enemies. You can deplete them of their magic and strike them down when they're the most vulnerable. You could even destroy Dumbledore within seconds. Why don't you?"

It was a question Izar had never been asked before; and certainly not asked with an air of desperate curiosity. It was if Rufus was trying to figure him out. Izar didn't know what he felt about that. Simply because he believed he was too complex for even himself to understand. "I once read that to educate a man in mind and not in morals is to educate a menace to society. I'm not trying to destroy and conquer the world, Minister. I'm only trying to satisfy my boredom and seek challenge."

Rufus remained motionless, his brows furrowing as he stared piercingly at Izar. "I don't believe that," the man whispered. If it were any other human standing across from the Minister, they wouldn't have been able to hear him through the wind. "I don't believe you," Rufus raised his voice. "I think you have a remarkable set of morals, Izar. They're only turning sour with the company you keep."

"Every monster has their own set of morals, Minister. No matter how buried they are." Izar swept a hand toward the Dark Lord. "You just haven't discovered them yet."

Before Rufus could respond with another plea for Izar to discover his humanity, _cracks _of Apparation sounded around the grounds of Hogwarts. The two turned, shock on their faces when they realized who had finally shown their faces.

The Unspeakables.

"No…" Izar whispered, dreading the worse. They would have to retreat. Already, they were outnumbered. With the Unspeakables here, they would be overwhelmed by the forces. They would have to end the battle early and hope Tom Riddle had enough sway with the public to take office. Otherwise, this war would be far from over.

Yet, Izar spied the leader of the Unspeakables and recognized the burly man as Owen Welder, his old boss. The orange-haired man shouted, giving the signal for the rest of the Unspeakables to attack. Izar watched in barely hidden fascination as the Unspeakables began attacking the French _and_ the Ministry with both combative skills and inventions. _Remarkable_.

Izar remembered his discussion with Owen that night at the Ministry. It seemed like ages ago, but Izar remembered it well. It had been after the Unspeakables created the doomsday invention that would drain the Death Eater's magic. Owen had been irate to know the Minister went behind his back and put together a group of Unspeakables to create it. The Head Unspeakable was also peeved at Scrimgeour for rearranging the Department of Mysteries and cutting projects.

Izar had told Owen if he wanted to fix things, he had to take an active part. Apparently the man was taking Izar's words to heart. The Unspeakables were for Riddle and they also wanted their Department back.

Slowly, Izar turned and smiled widely at Rufus, only disappointed that the man wouldn't see it from behind his mask. "_That _is what happens when you don't have total control over your subordinates." Izar chuckled. "And never fuck with the Unspeakables' inventions."

Rufus appeared shocked, his eyes taking in the Unspeakables as they actively defended Hogwarts and the Death Eaters. With the eager vigor the Unspeakables brought with them, the Death Eaters seemed to liven up and begin to dominate over the battle.

"_Izar_..."

Izar whirled around at the hissed call, narrowing his eyes on the Dark Lord as he battled Dumbledore and… _her. _While Voldemort had his attention on Dumbledore and Marjolaine, Izar knew the man had been the one to call his name in Parseltongue. To know that the Dark Lord was willingly passing Marjolaine to Izar made him feel oddly… hell… he wasn't going to finish that train of thought.

Pulling off his mask and hood, Izar threw the gold-plated mask on the snow and took a few advancing steps toward Rufus. As he got within distance, he grabbed the man around the collar thrusting the Minister closer. Their hair and cloaks entwined together in the fierce winds, bringing more intensity in their embrace then necessary.

"Why try to distract me, Rufus?" Izar whispered hotly. He finally realized why Scrimgeour had been so talkative during battle. The man was trying to give Dumbledore and Marjolaine a greater chance at destroying Voldemort without anyone assisting the Dark Lord. "Do you really think I'd be blind to the Dark Lord's situation?"

Rufus lifted a lip. "I couldn't care a less about the Dark Lord. I don't want _you _in the crossfire."

The declaration caused Izar's fingers to slacken around Rufus' collar. A horrible sensation weighed heavily in Izar's belly when he realized Rufus didn't want him to be killed. "You're an idiot," Izar snarled, pushing the Minister away along with his conflicting emotions. He reached out, making a pinching gesture with his thumb and index finger.

Rufus went down to his knees in horror as his magical core was pinched. He didn't scream like the others, but his breathing came out in gulps and his face turned white.

"Let me make a suggestion to you," Izar murmured, bending down low to stare at the man in the eye. "Run as far and as fast as you can after Tom Riddle becomes Minister. Because I'm not as amiable as you. I _will _hunt you down and kill you if you stick around."

Letting go of Rufus' magical core, Izar turned his heel and made his way toward Marjolaine. His perplexing emotions fed his adrenaline and gave him a necessary high to face _her_. Everything from today's battle came to a head as he watched Voldemort stumble from his strong stance. The Dark Lord fell backwards, unable to defend himself with the double attack. His jaw clenched as he pushed himself back up, a murderous rage in his eye.

Izar took aim at Marjolaine as she brought back her hand for another hit on Tom. "_Funis." _The glowing rope curled sharply around Marjolaine's right arm. With a sadistic tug, Izar pulled his wand back, and snapped her arm backward. She roared as her arm twisted under the manipulation of his spell. Before Izar could do much damage, the Dark Lady severed the line, growling beneath her breath. Though, as soon as her sharp eyes caught his form, she released a loud laugh.

"_You_! The Dark Lord's lover!"

"Izar Black," he corrected her darkly. "Though, I'm flattered you remembered me."

"You're just a pretty accessory, dear," she taunted. "Just like everyone else on this battlefield."

He clenched and unclenched his fingers around his wand. This was the woman who treated Izar like a pawn during the Triwizard Tournament. This was the woman who had destroyed Acelin Morel's life and his daughter's life. This… was exactly how a Dark Lady should be. And Izar was eager to show her that he was more than just a pretty obstacle between her and Voldemort. _He _was a threat. And he didn't take kindly to people thinking he was _nothing_.

She slowly moved away from Voldemort and Dumbledore as they dueled and set her sights on observing Izar as if he were a remarkable specimen. He observed her back, pondering on his plan of attack. It would have to be controlled, for certain, but it would also have to be similar to his past duel with Dumbledore. Careful, logical, and planned.

He looked into her honey-brown eyes, marveling at their color. She was a Veela, he had to remind himself. Her loose blond hair fell past her shoulders in silky waves and her skin seemed to radiate a soft glow. But her looks were nothing compared to her proud posture and alluring aura.

With his sudden reminder of her creature status, Izar slowly began to piece together a solution to his duel with Marjolaine. Being a creature instantly gave that individual an advantage _and_ disadvantage. They had power, but they also lost control. And the creatures who were notorious for their tempers were vampires and Veelas. Veelas with their cruel-beaked bird heads and long scaly wings bursting from their shoulders. And above all else? The ability to launch fire from their hands.

_Oh, yes… _Izar purred in his mind, a wicked plan forming. To many, they would consider a Veela in that state as a threat. But to others, like Izar, they would see it as opportunity to take advantage. The only complication was trying to get her to lose control.

"You truly want to challenge me, sweetie?"

Izar's eye twitched and he had to remind himself that he was wasn't the one who had to lose control. She would undoubtedly try to use his immortal age of sixteen to her advantage. It was a touchy topic for Izar but he couldn't let her know that.

Bending his knees and planting his feet into the snow, Izar prepared himself for the fury of a vain woman. "As long as you can keep up… old hag."

Her brown eyes widened comically before she lashed out. Izar jumped away from his position, just in time to avoid the explosion that struck the snow next to him. He raised his arms above his head, laughing as he twirled his wand in lazy spirals. The snow began to spiral above him in a small tornado-like blizzard. Izar threw his arm down, causing the funnel cloud to encircle around him. His vision was blocked from the outside world as he quickly duplicated his body and then cast a _silenco_ on his own body.

Keeping the funnel activated, Izar silently Disapparated from outside the funnel and appeared directly behind Marjolaine. She was oblivious to his presence as she attacked the funnel cloud, revealing Izar's duplicated body lying on the ground after the snow cleared.

"All too easy," she boasted.

Izar muffled his chuckle. Lords, or, in this case, Dark Ladies and their arrogance always amused Izar. Truly, being underestimated was probably the best thing to happen in a duel. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his wand mimicking the gesture Voldemort had once used. He placed it to the underside of his chin and glanced at Marjolaine from beneath lowered lashes.

"Yes, I agree. All too easy," Izar drawled pleasantly.

As soon as Marjolaine turned toward him, Izar breathed fire. It took the form of a hunting bird, its wings wide and plentiful as it lunged at her. She batted at it, but not quick enough. The fire ate at her face and hair, turning the beautifully spun blond locks into a charred mess. She screamed in fury and pain, a clear sign of her unstable control. With the fire put out, Marjolaine snapped her neck around to seethe at Izar. She was all but foaming at the mouth.

"Old… and now ugly. What are the chances?" Izar mocked. Her raw face darkened and a shadow of a beak appeared on her face. "All at the hands of a _pretty _and _young _accessory." Izar gave her a blinding smile. "How humiliating for you."

"_Retreat!" _

The commanding voice wasn't Voldemort, so Izar could only assume that the Ministry was retreating. _Cracks _of Disapparation sounded soon after the command. The Ministry, the French, and the Order were leaving, which only meant that the Dark Army had prevailed. It was a short-lived victory, for Marjolaine was far from over with their duel. Izar felt a bit smug for having had the ability to anger her enough to stay here, past the conclusion of the war.

She bared her teeth and attacked him with vigor. He danced away from as many hexes and curses as he could, but one of them hit him directly in his chest. He was forced off his feet and thrown carelessly off the edge of the cliff. He was falling down toward the large lake below, and before he hit the frozen lake, he saw Marjolaine jump over the cliff to follow him.

Her face was now transferred into that of a pissed off Veela. But her wings had yet to come out and there was no fire coming from her hands. Pity. Izar hadn't pissed her off enough.

He landed on the rocky shore of the frozen lake, exhaling nosily as one of the rocks pierced his back. For just a second, he stared up at the high cliff he fell off. It would have killed anyone. And luckily, the only person who saw his descent was Marjolaine herself. And she already knew he was immortal.

Prying himself off the sharp rock, he grimaced when he felt the abrasion slowly begin to heal. He barely got to his knees before she landed next to him, continuously firing curses. Izar jumped away from them, finding himself standing on the ice.

"You're nothing but a little _boy_," she snarled and caught Izar across the chest with piercing jinx.

He clenched his jaw in a grimace as he watched thick blood drip on the ice in front of him as well as behind him. A hole, the size of a Muggle bullet, pieced his chest. But like most wounds, it began to close with only a minimal amount of discomfort.

He wondered if he had pissed her off just enough to ignite a more powerful urge to kill him rather than the urge to lose control. Bloody hell. How many stages of rage did one go through before they lost control?

Suddenly, the ice exploded beneath his feet, sending him into the chilly depths below. He withheld a sigh of exasperation as the ice closed above him, trapping him underneath. He supposed he would find the many stages of rage as soon as he found a way _out _of this.

**{Death of Today}**

Lucius felt an overwhelming sense of liberation and exhilaration as he watched the last of the opposition Disapparate away. He spun around, a goofy smile on his face. The dead bodies littering across the grounds of Hogwarts couldn't even put a damper on his mood.

They had _won_. They had won. Now the last step to completion was putting Tom Riddle into office so the man could make Britain a _safe _place once again. The public will love him. They would accept the changes he would make with society just because he would put a stop to all these attacks.

Lucius exhaled noisily, well-aware of the cheers erupting from the surviving Death Eaters. The numbers had diminished greatly, he realized. But so had the numbers for the Light. As far as he knew, Barty Crouch Junior, and the majority of the Lestrange family had fallen. There were more, granted, but Lucius was far too exhausted to reflect on losing his comrades. All that mattered was that he was alive and his family was alive. And…

His eyes sought the battlefield, looking for a particular young wizard or even a Dark Lord to clue him in where to look for said wizard.

"Lucius, _Lucius_," someone hissed his name.

The blond turned, eyeing Rookwood as the man motioned him over to the edge of the cliff. Around him, other Death Eaters were crowding near, staring at the bottom of the cliff and down toward the frozen lake.

Clutching his wand, Lucius ran over, fearing the worse. Had Izar fallen? Had the Dark Lord… No. It didn't matter if Izar had fallen. The boy was immortal, was he not? A fall wouldn't kill an immortal, unless…

He pushed his way through the throng of Death Eaters before looking down. A small smirk curled the edges of his lips as he observed the battle taking place below. An enraged Veela and a young wizard were engaging in an intense duel, both looking worse for wear. Izar was dripping wet and the Dark Lady was half-transformed into her Veela. The only thing Lucius could really take notice of, besides the remarkable performance, was the wide and playful grin across Izar's face. As usual, the boy was egging on his prey.

Lucius glanced up and across the lake, spying the French army. They too were watching the battle, going nowhere unless they knew their Lady was alive and well.

Before turning back to the battle, he caught sight of the Dark Lord. The man was standing off to the side, his sharp eyes observing the battle keenly. Lucius noticed the man's body was tense and ready to spring. Was that… unease Lucius saw on the man's face? Oh my. It was.

Lucius pressed his lips together in a smile. The Dark Lord had nothing to worry about. If it grew out of hand, Izar had a bruised, yet loyal army at his back.

He subconsciously noticed that there was no Dumbledore hovering around the Dark Lord. Dead or alive. Which only meant the old fool had escaped once again. Did this mean the war was not yet over? Or would the Dark Lord continue on with his plan? Lucius was certain it was the latter, but he also knew that Dumbledore would still be a threat.

Turning back to the battle, he hoped Izar didn't take too long. He needed to see Narcissa and Draco.

**{Death of Today}**

If he were human, Izar was positive he would have already collapsed of exhaustion or died of blood loss. His sharp eyes noticed Marjolaine's slight fatigue but she was doing an incredible job hiding it. The difference between Izar and Marjolaine was that she was mortal. She aged, she died, and she had a beating heart. It was natural for her to grow tired after a duel this long. Not to mention she seemed oblivious to the fact that Izar was making her stay on the offensive.

He circled around her on the ice, finding it almost natural now to maneuver around the slick element. He couldn't stop the goofy smile from stretching across his mouth as she continued to fire her magic at him… as if she could actually hit him. Granted, there were a few that caught Izar and cracked a bone or two. But they healed relatively easily, albeit crookedly.

She was tiring and growing more agitated as the minutes passed. Izar realized he needed to put this to an end before she decided to Disapparate away.

"The longer you keep me alive, the higher chance your face stays that way," Izar called sweetly. "I heard the Healers in France aren't too experienced in cosmetic reconstruction. Pity. You had actually looked decent for someone of your old age."

She stopped attacking long enough to stare at him in quiet fury. Izar skated backwards on the ice in mock boredom, clasping his hands behind his back. He was taken by surprise as she sent a Transfigured blade flying in his direction. He hastily put up a shield but it sliced right through. Bending his body backwards in order to avoid it, Izar watched it fly above him and collide with the side of the cliff. Rock and debris exploded from the impact, leaving Izar wondering what the hell kind of curse that was.

She gave a shout of fury as she levitated the debris from the lake's surface and flung it in Izar's direction. The Black heir straightened up and calmly put up a shield. He hunched his shoulders in attempt to brace himself against her powerful magic. His shield pulverized most of the boulders, showering him with layers of fine sand. As soon as the last boulder landed at his feet, Izar dropped his shield and raced toward her.

Marjolaine smiled wickedly at Izar's approach. She flicked her wand, causing ice-like crystals to head in his direction. Though, Izar had been prepared. "_Cassesium_!"

_Hello, my dear friend_. It had been months since he used the _Cassesium. _But it was exactly the spell he needed to send his opponent in a confused and irritate stage. The _Cassesium _built a web-like shield around him, solidifying in brittle-like strings. As soon as the Dark Lady's curse made contact with the web, it turned blue as it absorbed the curse. Izar reached out and touched the web, drawing the magic to the tips of his fingers.

With renowned determination, Izar swallowed the magic, pleasantly surprised to find it didn't taste as bad as he imagined. His skin turned a brilliant shade of blue as he continued toward her. He enjoyed the perplexing expression crossing her face and he enjoyed it even more as she cast a powerful bout of magic in his direction. Like he anticipated, the woman's curse bounced off him ineffectively.

She continued to cast curses, all of them failing. Her eyes began to alter into a liquid-gold and her leathery wings tore from her back. "You little bastard!" she screamed.

Izar calmly approached her, appearing composed, but poised and ready for her to make the last step in his trap. Would she fall for it? Yes… she would. She was too arrogant and didn't see him as a real threat.

She transformed fully into her Veela, a wicked and cruel smile crossing her face as she held out her hands. She assumed she could take Izar by surprise and burn him alive. And technically, she could. But Izar had been waiting for this ever since he cast his first spell in their duel.

As she thrust her hands out toward him, flames licking at her fingers, Izar mimicked her. Only, he cast a nonverbal rebounding charm. She didn't see it coming. The shield was up seconds after the fireballs released from her hands. If anyone else were standing as close to her as Izar was, they would have been unprepared and charred alive. But Izar sat back, watching as the fire hit the invisible shield and bounced back at her.

Marjolaine's eyes widened when she realized what had transpired. Because Izar had been so close, the shield was mere inches from her. There was no time to block the string of fire as it came back at her and consumed her whole. This time, her whole body was aflame and she screamed in horror. It was true that a Veela's fire wouldn't harm its owner. But once it left her hands and was touched by Izar's magic, it was free reign.

Izar clicked his feet together, rearing up and thrashing his wand across his chest. "_Avada Kedavra!" _

Marjolaine, rivaling the appearance of a burning demon, screamed something incomprehensible before Apparating away.

Izar stood there dumbly as his Killing Curse hit the frozen lake where she once stood aflame. The green curse exploded a small section of the lake, causing a large piece of ice to break off and fling back at him. He did nothing to stop it as it hit him in the forehead and even humored the piece of ice by falling backwards.

He grunted as he landed on his back. His pale green and charcoal eyes stared up at the sky in gloomy detachment. By now the winds had died down and the snow calmed to a small sprinkle.

He nearly _had _her! No, he _did_ have her and she fled like… like any other Lord or Lady. They couldn't face death or destruction. They couldn't face death like any proud witch or wizard would gladly do. If Izar would have just kept the anti-Apparation wards up after getting the Death Eaters inside, he would have…

No. He promised his mother he would destroy the wards and release the other half of her soul. He would gladly do it a second time if it meant she would finally be able to rest in peace.

Despite Marjolaine fleeing right before he could kill her, things had gone relatively smooth in the battle. They had _won. _And it was because of the extra assistance from the Unspeakables. Izar pondered on that for a moment, realizing that he once again proved Voldemort wrong. Attachments weren't weak. And they weren't unnecessary. Attachments were like a double-edged sword. They may bring with it weakness, but they also brought strength and support. If it wasn't for his relationship with Owen Welder, the man may have never arrived here tonight. And… his mother… if it wasn't for her he would—

"Charming," the Dark Lord purred from above him.

Izar closed his eyes briefly, keeping his learned knowledge of attachments close to him for future use. It was something Voldemort may never understand, but it was something Izar could use to his own advantage.

"I had her," Izar whispered darkly. "I had her."

"Technically, yes, but next time, no."

Izar snapped his eyes open, staring at the Dark Lord in distaste. "Of course I _will_."

A small smirk lifted Voldemort's lips as he stared down at Izar. "They underestimated you, Dumbledore and Marjolaine did. Both your appearance and your age made them think of you as no threat. Next time you'll have a harder time taking them by surprise."

Before Izar could respond bitingly, the man continued.

"I will be more than willing to train you before that time comes."

Izar stared unblinkingly at Dark Lord. "I'd like that," he admitted, albeit a bit tightly. He seethed as he watched the smirk on Voldemort's lips widen into one of immense arrogance. Someday, someday _soon_, Izar was going to prove to the Dark Lord that he would be taken seriously. It may be a painful lesson for the Dark Lord but Izar vowed he would get one up on Voldemort.

A squeal sounded beside him as Bellatrix slid down next to him. Her face pressed up against Izar's neck as she inhaled. "My sweet nephew," she crooned. "We won."

He smiled grimly, catching sight of Lucius Malfoy as he came to a stop near them. "Moody?" Izar questioned in honest curiosity.

Lucius cocked his head to the side. "Demolished."

Just as Izar was about to congratulate the man, someone beat him to it.

"Lucius," someone called the blond from a few feet away. All attention was turned to Narcissa Malfoy as she seemed to float in a daze toward her husband. Her face was ashen—almost green—and her eyes were rimmed with red. "Lucius… Draco is at St. Mungos. He doesn't have much time." She reached out a frail hand toward her husband, appearing as if she needed a solid body to keep her grounded.

Bellatrix released Izar and sat up in surprise. It was one of the only times Izar had seen her serious and concerned. "I thought he didn't participate in the battle, Cissy!"

"He didn't," she responded harshly. She tugged at an immobile Lucius before her eyes landed on Izar. Her entire body seemed to grow rigid and her red-rimmed eyes narrowed into a mother's protective glare. Her immense dislike channeled toward Izar through her aura. "He was burned alive in the Room of Requirements and was rescued by Granger. You wouldn't have any idea how that happened, Izar, would you?"

Izar, who had just stood from the ice, froze.

_Bloody hell… _Draco had been defending the Horcrux. Izar didn't know how Narcissa knew as much, but he assumed she found out from either Granger or Draco himself that he had been defending a Horcrux. She was angry at Izar for giving it to Draco, and yet, she didn't know that it had been a fake Horcrux he risked his life for.

Lucius, on the other hand, would soon piece everything together and come after Izar.

He slowly straightened and faced Narcissa's accusing stare with an impassive mask. Guilt tore at his stomach at the devastation across her face. He certainly didn't stop her from reaching over and slapping him sharply across the face. He remained turned, staring numbly at the ice and hearing Lucius pull her away.

He had screwed up royally this time.

* * *

*Twiddles thumbs* I hate writing battle scenes, just as I hate writing lemons. You can imagine the torture I was going through as I wrote this (all 11,000 words of it). Anyway, I hope school will be calm enough so I can update within a relatively decent time. I'm excited for the upcoming chapter(s).

Thanks for reading!


	68. Part II Chapter 36

_Thanks to those of you who read and reviewed last chapter._

**Chapter Thirty Six**

"…there will be times of struggle, but as we push forward, we'll build ourselves a stronger, better society."

Thunderous applause echoed piercingly across the room, drawing a thankful nod from the man at the podium. Izar watched darkly from above as the politician adjusted his glasses, glancing down at his notes before looking back at the audience. A true politician. Sometimes Izar found himself wondering what Voldemort's true form was meant to be. A Dark Lord? Or a scheming politician? It was obvious that it was a bit of both, never all of one or more of the other. It was a perfect and equal balance between Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort.

Or simply 'My Lord' as Izar called him.

The Black heir bowed his head, pressing his forehead against the railing as Voldemort continued his speech to the press. It was official. Tom Riddle, the ex-Undersecretary, would replace Rufus Scrimgeour as Minister for Magic. The attack on Hogwarts had just been mere hours ago, but after escaping the battle, Tom Riddle arrived at the Ministry to meet with the Board and later the press. After intense discussions behind closed doors, it was public knowledge that Rufus Scrimgeour had been thrown from the Ministry for his lack of judgment and constant failed attempts of destroying the Dark Lord.

The public had been in outrange when they heard Hogwarts had been attacked. It was exactly as the Dark Lord predicted. But when wasn't the Dark Lord right? Things worked out even better for the man when lawmakers and the press found out about Rufus' decision to alley himself with a French Dark Lady.

Izar found himself feeling a small amount of remorse for the old lion. Rufus had started off strong, but the constant pressures of the public and the Dark Lord's hand were meant to topple him backward from the very beginning. He had been a mere puppet to Voldemort's regime. And Izar knew Rufus was aware of such. He pondered if the man would take this laying down. Would he listen to Izar's advice and flee Britain? Or was something else in the cards for Scrimgeour?

"While Rufus Scrimgeour may have been a prospective leader of this country, he lacked the experience that was needed to run things effectively. He caved under the pressure and made poor decisions. One thing Mr. Scrimgeour had right, however, was his plan for change. This society needs to make altercations to keep up with the changing times. You will find many new policies being put in place during my term and I plan to keep the public's safety and wellbeing in mind as I create these policies."

Izar opened his eyes, smiling bitterly. What kind of leader would Voldemort be? Would he put Britain through chaos with his polices? Or would he truly make a better place for the witches and wizards living underneath him? Izar assumed, and believed, it was the latter. Voldemort wanted to erase Muggle influence, and by doing so, he would make the Wizarding World a stronger place. But then, Izar wasn't a fool. He knew there would be individuals who were on the wrong end of the policies Voldemort put in place.

"I vow, as your new Minister of Magic, to make a safe environment for your children to grow and prosper. We will be stronger than we have ever been before."

_And then in a few decades, you can come back to Britain and tear down this durable society you built just for fun, won't you Tom?_ Izar couldn't imagine Voldemort _not _targeting Britain again within a few decades time. Britain would always be Voldemort's home—_his _territory. His endless years of immortality would bring him here more than anywhere else. Just to play with it and claim it again and again.

Placing his chin on his open palm, Izar briefly wondered about the future and… his future. Would he truly have an endless life in front of him? Was Lily's sacrifice really the end to Aiden's vision? He—

"Are you ready, _My Lord_?" the voice mocked Izar quietly. Rookwood adjusted his Death Eater mask next to Izar, chuckling lowly. "You should probably drink the potion. He's nearly completed with his speech." Next to Rookwood, Bellatrix stood quietly, her recklessness dimmed remarkably since hearing of her nephew's condition.

Izar looked down at the vial in his hands before studying the large robe that pooled off his thin frame. He didn't know how Draco was fairing. Hell, the blond boy could have been dead by now, but Izar hadn't asked Bellatrix and he hadn't made an effort to go see Draco. He was busy after all. As soon as the battle had concluded, Izar was pulled by a distracted Dark Lord and forced to memorize and act out the man's last-minute scheming.

Yes, Izar hadn't even given Draco a second-thought. At least he liked to tell himself as such, all the while ignoring the unctuous feeling in his stomach.

Voldemort had been on the move ever since the Malfoys had Disapparated from the frozen lake. The man hadn't so much spoken to Izar besides instructing him what to do in regards to the political scheme. Despite their inability to discuss things like rational adults, Izar found himself feeling a bit isolated and alone. He had wanted to speak to Voldemort about… _things_. And he knew the Dark Lord's schedule would only get busier from this point forward.

He allowed himself to sink deep in the depression brimming beneath the surface. Just for a second. He hated this phase in their game.

And then he pushed away the vulnerability and placed a lid over the emotions he wasn't familiar dealing with. It was easier to focus on one thing at a time. Being assaulted by everything at once would render Izar an invalid. Being an invalid now simply wouldn't do. Not when Voldemort needed him to act his _part. _

Izar tipped back the fool-tasting potion and drowned it. His eyes closed briefly as the thick substance seemed to freeze his intestines on the way to his digestive tract. Moments later, he doubled over, clenching his jaw as his body began to shift and stretch.

It wasn't long before his dark hair straightened and lengthened. His body soon followed his hair's trend and began to stretch to heights he never thought he would experience. Izar straightened, his cloak now fitting more snugly around his frame. Slowly, he brought his lengthy hands up to his face, pondering on the sensation of being an adult. When he received his growth spurt the summer of his sixteenth birthday, he had felt superior and so _right _being in a taller statute. But _this_. This was a bit overwhelming.

"How does it feel?" Rookwood inquired, staring up at Izar through squinted eyes. "To be in the Lord's body?"

Izar blinked down at Rookwood, who was usually around the same height as he was. Now the man was noticeably shorter than himself. Was this what Voldemort saw when he looked down at Izar?

"A bit nauseating, really," Izar replied, pausing. He smirked. His voice… it would take some time getting used to. This voice could be a weapon in its own right—Izar knew from experience. He just needed to practice in order to get it right.

He nonchalantly touched his neck where the black scales would be but was pleased to note they were still hidden by the glamours. Both he and Voldemort had planned in advance for this and placed the necessary glamours on his body in preparation for the Polyjuice potion. Even his mouth had been glamoured to hide the forked-tongue and fangs.

Taking notice of the creature-side of Voldemort wasn't Izar's most pressing observation. No, it was the _magic_. Izar had never seen his own aura and had never felt it. Oddly enough, he was able to feel what Voldemort felt in his own body. The magic was just _dripping _from the extremities of his body. It felt like cool water cascading down his fingers and sending little electric shots up his arm. It wasn't an overwhelming sensation, and Izar could understand how Voldemort would become accustomed to it with time, but it was a welcoming feeling to Izar. To hold this much power over people...

_Why don't you use your magic-sensitivity? You'd be unstoppable… _

Izar placed his hands down at his sides and slowly walked back and forth to get accustomed to the extra length of limbs. Grudgingly, he wondered on Rufus' words from the battle only hours ago. Did his own set of morals stop him from using the 'gift' Cygnus invented inside his DNA? Why, after killing so many wizards and witches, did he have to hesitate when it came to pinching their magical core? If he was just going to kill them anyway, what was the difference?

Was it his morals? Or was it like he told Rufus, that he was just bored and needed a challenge?

"Perhaps both," Izar whispered to himself as he stared at the dark alcove. Was it even possible to have two conflicting beliefs and reasons residing in one mind?

His eyes narrowed into slits. These past few days, he had been questioning himself and his actions almost relentlessly. What was it that was causing him to have doubts and question the way he did things? And asking so many questions in his mind certainly wasn't healthy. No one was there to answer them, not even himself. His logical voice was oddly quiet, appearing as if it were waiting for _Izar _to answer these questions.

There was an uproar coming from beneath and Izar turned, slowly approaching the railing.

"He just informed the press and public that he will be meeting with the Dark Lord," Rookwood murmured quietly. "They are unpleased."

Izar scoffed. "They knew Riddle wanted to make a treaty with the Dark Lord from the start. He told the press he wouldn't follow in Scrimgeour's footsteps but would agree to conform to some of the Dark Lord's 'wishes'." His crimson eyes traced over the murmuring reporters. It was true that they were in an uproar, but it appeared as if they were just as excited and frightful at the aspect.

Times were changing. And everyone was beginning to get swept up with the current.

"I will have many Wizengamot members present with me as I meet with the Dark Lord," Riddle continued, holding up a hand to calm and quiet the crowd. They followed his direction immediately. "As I have stated countless of times before, I believe this Dark Lord is overdramatic with his attacks just to get his voice heard. A neutral meeting between the Dark Lord and I will result in policies being thrown back and forth and some being adapted. I have reason to believe the Dark Lord's ranks are growing in number. Our allies in the Ministry are depleting and from the attack last night at Hogwarts, many foreign countries are unwilling to enter into an alliance with us."

Riddle smiled sadly for the public. "You will have my word that I will never adopt any policy toxic to our populations. But there _will_ be dramatic changes, ones that you will have to weigh and question yourself with. Would you rather have these policies set in place, or would you rather have an ongoing war with countless of more deaths?"

Riddle gave one final nod before stepping down from the podium. His Undersecretary, a face unknown to Izar, took his place and began to bid the press farewell.

Izar contemplated the situation. Voldemort would have his hands full. He would need many allies within the press and also as many citizens as he could afford to smooth out the policies being made. There would need to be damage control and people whispering at how well Riddle was leading Britain.

And for some reason, Izar believed the man already had that in line. In fact, Izar was sure Voldemort had his groups already running around Britain, hailing Tom Riddle as a hero. The Dark Lord was always five steps ahead of everyone else in the game.

"Ready?" Rookwood inquired.

Izar glanced at Rookwood, staring over his head at a quiet Bellatrix. She was standing a ways away, her gold-platted mask the only thing visible in the alcove they stood in.

"Don't worry about her," Augustus whispered. "It will take time, but she'll be back to normal." The man winked from behind his mask. "Aside from her nephew's condition, the Lestranges took a pretty big hit during the battle. In fact, her husband was the only survivor."

"I hadn't known," Izar responded tightly. "Barty Crouch Junior als0—"

"I know," Rookwood interrupted darkly, bitterly. "He was a good man, a good wizard. Many of us sacrificed our lives for this cause. I only hope the Dark Lord can understand that and do his best at completing Britain."

Izar stared at him unseeingly, his stomach tightening at the man's admission. What would Rookwood say if he found out that this was all entertainment to Voldemort? Just a phase in his long life of immortality?

_Fuck_, bloody fucking hell. Izar pushed off from the railing and stalked down the alcove and toward the Green Room. Why was he melting? He felt as if he were turning into an emotional goo of mess. He needed Voldemort. He _needed _the man to talk sense back into him. Izar wanted to go back to being an impassive wizard who found it hard to empathize about others' feelings. But now he was even sympathizing with Rookwood and grieving over Crouch Junior. He was getting too close. A little emotional attachment was understandable, but this much, to this extent… it was unhealthy and pathetic.

Izar was distantly aware of the two Death Eaters trying to keep up at his back. He pulled his hood over his features, veiling everything save for the thin lips. His footsteps started off as erratic, but slowly began to smooth into a graceful glide. The Ministry workers he passed stopped in their tracks and stared dumbly, almost in horror. Izar made sure he had been near the Green Room when he was watching Riddle's press conference. It wouldn't do to be stopped and gawked at before he had a chance at putting Voldemort's plan into motion.

Finally, he came to a stop before two tall doors, their paint a startling emerald green. The Green Room. It was so named for the neutrality and 'peaceful' conferences between parties.

The two Aurors in front of the doors sneered at him, their hands itching toward their wands.

"Don't even try it," Izar hissed quietly, still trying to get familiarized with Voldemort's voice. "I have an _appointment _with Minister Riddle. You can either let me enter, or this conference will be adjourned."

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" An older brunette opened the door to the Green Room from the inside. His eyes swept the length of Izar, in Voldemort's body, before turning to look at the Aurors. "We already agreed on protocol. Let him pass."

The Aurors reluctantly parted from the double doors and the politician from inside the room stepped aside to allow Izar entrance. Without hesitation, Bellatrix and Augustus entered the room first, acting as a guard for Izar. Seconds later, Izar swept inside, approaching the group of men gathered around a large table.

There appeared to be around ten Wizengamot who surrounded Tom Riddle as the Minister sat at the other end of the table. Five Aurors stood against the wall, seemingly acting as silent spectators. At Izar's entrance, Riddle stood from his position, placing his hands on the table in front of him.

"If I had known this meeting would entitle a battle of brute force, Minister, then I would have brought more men with me," Izar called mockingly from his side of the table. This was too bizarre. And quite frankly, it was fun enough to erase Izar's current anxieties. At least for now. "I wasn't aware you needed this many men with you, on your own _grounds _no less."

Izar wasn't given any set monologue for this meeting. Voldemort only gave him the list of policies he wanted to be brought up during the meeting. When Izar asked how he should proceed with it, the Dark Lord just smiled thinly and responded, _"Act as how you usually do, child. We are remarkably similar, you and I." _

Riddle gazed at Izar over his glasses, appearing just how a man in his position should look, exhausted but stern. "_You_ called this meeting, Lord Voldemort. Not I. Forgive me for having extra protection, I have only been named Minister for two hours."

"Rightfully so," Izar responded dryly. "I only worry for your well-being. How long will it take for _these _men surrounding you to crack you like they did Rufus Scrimgeour? They like to preach that they support you, but in reality, they'll eat you alive." The Wizengamot members glowered at Izar from across the table, their expression varying from frightened to full blown rage.

"I am truly thankful for your concern," Riddle drawled. "But wasn't it your hand that destroyed Mr. Scrimgeour's resolve?"

Izar cocked his head to the side, mindful of Bellatrix and Augustus taking position on either side of him. "Perhaps you could consider me a variable to his meltdown." Izar smiled widely. "But I never had it in for the old lion. Just like with you, I wanted to arrange a conference and discuss my demands. He refused. Naturally, I retaliated." Izar traced the edge of the table with his spidery fingers. "Let's pray you don't make the same decisions as old Scrimgeour."

One of the Wizengamot members stood up sharply, his face as red as the crimson robes he wore. "What's saying we don't destroy you where you sit, you bloody bastard? Discuss your demands? I think _not_."

Izar calmly sat down in the chair and surveyed the man through hooded eyes. With a sharp fingernail, Izar traced his thin smile, all the while, intentionally intimidating the man enough for him to sit back down. "That is a _very _good question, good sir," Izar murmured quietly. His finger paused on his lower lip and he placed his hand steadily on the table. All sets of eyes stared at the appendage as if it would shoot fire bolts from the fingertips. "And there is a simple answer to that."

His mind was thinking quickly, trying to come up with an answer that would be threatening and political enough.

"Which is?" Riddle pressed, a dark sneer to his face. Though, if Izar looked close enough, those charmed brown eyes were all but glittering in delight.

Izar chuckled breathlessly and waved his hand carelessly. "I left the students alive during the Hogwarts attack for one main purpose. Leverage. You don't think I know where the professors sent the students during and after the attack?" The Wizengamot members' faces drained of all color. "Yes, while some parents took their children with them, the majority of the students were sent to Durmstrang Institution under the care of Igor Karkaroff. Right now, I have men surrounding the _unplottable _school. I also have another set of men waiting in the weeds, so to speak, around the Ministry. You are weak and vulnerable right now. One call from me will set a series of attacks you cannot hope to recover from."

"You wouldn't even get a chance to send word. Not if we decide to strike you down," another Wizengamot member warned.

Izar turned his head, leveling the man with a dark expression. "Do you truly believe that?"

"You're a sick monster," the only female in the group spat.

"That insult shattered through my many walls of defense, milady," Izar drawled cynically. Next to him, Rookwood snickered. Izar watched in suppressed glee as the stern-looking woman turned crimson at his mocking.

"You _are _a monster, that is not debatable," Riddle spoke up, bringing the attention back on him. "You've killed hundreds of Muggles and wizards alike. You've created terror across Britain and even to some of the neighboring countries."

"Is there a point to this, Minister?" Izar interrupted irritably. "That is exactly why I'm here. You can either work with me to reconstruct Britain, or I can do it myself through force. And we both know the public is controlled through fear." Izar flashed Riddle a blinding smile, a sick secret only the two shared. After all, Riddle had been elected into office out of the public's fear. They were being controlled by Riddle's hand—all like mindless sheep.

Riddle took a deep breath, leaning against his chair and staring impassively across the table at Izar. "Let me put one thing on the table, Lord Voldemort. I will not, nor _ever _be a puppet to you. If I don't like one of your policies, we'll work through it and adjust it to something we can _both _agree on. Being a marionette Minister was never my intention. _I _run this country, not you."

Oh, Riddle was getting fierce and possessive. Just as Izar imagined he would. Britain was Riddle's country and Izar was never to question or challenge that claim. For a long moment, Izar remained silent, a loss for words and trying to get himself back under control. He knew Riddle was acting in such a way in order to put on a show for their witnesses. And the Wizengamot acting as witnesses were a good decision on Riddle's part. They usually were the voices of the public.

Only, Izar found himself truly affected by those words. He slowly lifted his chin and stared challengingly at Riddle. Right then, it was not Lord Voldemort and Tom Riddle sitting across from each other. It was Izar and Voldemort and they both knew it.

"For now," Izar whispered icily. He didn't know what made him do it. Challenging the Dark Lord's claim over Britain was never his intentions; it had slipped from his tongue too quickly for him to stop it. Nonetheless, it was something Lord Voldemort would have said, wasn't it?

Riddle's eyes widened only a fraction before they narrowed, a mere sign that he had caught Izar's true intentions behind the threat. "Indeed," he replied grimly. The British Minister motioned to the thin wizard next to him who dipped a quill in an inkpot. "Let's get started, shall we? What's your first demand, Lord Voldemort?"

Izar knew they only had a limited time until the Polyjuice lost its potency. So he decided to jump right into the most pressing topic.

"The practice of Dark Magic."

**{Death of Today}**

_Izar,_

_I'm writing this, not as a plea for your forgiveness, but for you to understand my resilient love for you. I've dropped the custody battle because I have come to accept Regulus' role in your life. Not only that, but I can also see that you are no longer a boy in need of his mother or father. You have grown into a mature and able wizard, one that no longer needs his parents to tell him what to do. _

_Perhaps that was the most difficult thing to accept, you not needing guidance from either of us. _

_By now, you know that I have created a Horcrux in order to protect you from Cygnus Black. Oddly enough, I found that making that decision was the easiest choice I had ever been faced with. You see, that day I held you in my arms after I gave birth to you, I was overcome with a sense of fierce love and protectiveness. A mother's love was once said to know no boundaries. I knew that Regulus' offspring had a chance of possessing the Cygnus' Curse. And because of that, I decided to keep you safe, or any of your descendants safe from Cygnus. I tore a piece of my soul in order to protect you, and I would do it again even after knowing the consequences of my actions. _

_Time passes differently when you are living with only a half of a soul. Days merge into months, and months quickly become years. There are months, and even years I can't remember after I created the Horcrux. There are no emotions accompanying memories, thus, time and memories don't stick with me. James and the Healers believe I have severe depression and they have given me potions to help me feel again. In the beginning, they worked only slightly. Now though, I grow ill each day, and each day, my emotions become even more obsolete. I'm an empty shell by all accounts, only stirring when I experience the occasional emotion. _

_I'm not telling you this for self-pity, Izar. I'm only trying to make you understand the decisions I made in life. I agree that I had no right to betray Regulus in such a way, but I rarely feel guilt towards my past actions anymore. It's you who I feel the most towards. It's almost as if my other half is residing within you now, accompanying you wherever you go. I regret putting you in an orphanage that treated you so unfairly. But understand I had no knowledge that they would act so cruelly to a child. They were frightened of you and your abilities, never understanding that all you needed was love. _

_It was that love that you wouldn't have found with me, either. While I do feel love and protectiveness toward you on occasion, it has never stayed permanently. I retreat back into a shell, watching as time passes each day. You would have been no better off with a mother who was incapable of caring for you. Quite possibly, you could have grown up to hate me. Just as you do now. _

_Doubtless of what I could have done differently, one thing remains constant. I do love you. And I would sacrifice everything I have to keep you safe. _

_Live a long and happy life for me, Izar. _

_Your mother, _

_Lily. _

Izar stared at the letter for a long while. After months of sitting in his cloak pocket at Voldemort's base, Izar had finally dug it out and read it. He had received it from Regulus the day they found out that Lily had dropped the custody battle. Izar had never opened it until now, always forgetting about it or deciding it was never the time to think on Lily or her sacrifices.

He picked up the photograph that was enclosed with the letter. She obviously gave birth at a Muggle hospital, for the equipment around her bed was all Muggle and the photograph was still frame. Lily sat in her bed, a wide smile on her face as she cradled the dark-haired newborn against her chest. Her red hair was long and wavy, falling down her back and shoulders in silky, yet sweaty waves. Even from the Muggle technology, Izar could easily see the vibrancy those green eyes once had to offer.

He was holding Lily Evans' last day of normalcy in his hands. He remembered Lily's Horcrux telling him that she spent a whole day holding him. This was probably a bittersweet day for her. Knowing that she just gave birth to a beautiful child, only having to give it up shortly.

And Lily was right. She could have done things differently, but she hadn't. There was no use dwelling on what could have been when Izar was relatively happy of how he turned out. He held no grudge against her for giving him to the orphanage, he realized. None at all. And while he felt sorry for Regulus' years and years of reclusiveness, he didn't hold hatred for Lily for what had happened. Regulus and Lily were both young and they were both caught up with an adult's war. Children were doubtless to make mistakes. At any rate, that quarrel was between Regulus and Lily, not Izar.

Izar tapped the edges of the photograph with his fingers. He had to accept what Lily had sacrificed for him. It was finally time to put this old conflicting issue to rest.

He had never experienced her love before, but he was also alive because of it. To have someone love him so much that they were willing to sacrifice their entire soul for him was unsettling to Izar. It was pure and wholesome and Izar had trouble accepting it. There was Sirius and Regulus whom Izar had come to… care about, but never to the extent Lily had for Izar. And to realize that Lily had never even met him. Or interacted with him. He hadn't given her anything in return, and yet, Lily had opted to put herself through a lifetime of hell to save him.

It was… unfathomable to him. Completely baffling. And he didn't like being confused.

But then, she expressed it was a mother's love. Was a mother or father willing to go this far for a child they had never raised before?

Izar stood up from the couch and stalked the length of the living room before entering the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, straightening the dark Muggle suit he wore. Lily could have been acting out of guilt. Her actions could have steamed from the fact that she ruined Regulus' life and conceived a child out of blackmail. Perhaps she had created a Horcrux in order to put herself at ease and lighten her guilt.

It was the only logical explanation Izar could come up with that would explain why Lily would sacrifice so much. Certainly a mother's love wasn't _that _strong. He couldn't accept love to that extreme. Dying for someone…

Suddenly, Izar wondered if he would die for Voldemort.

He pressed his lips together and turned away from his reflection, disgusted at his train of thought. He was currently dealing with _Lily_, not Voldemort. That issue would come later, much later when he didn't have so much on his mind.

Nonetheless, despite his uncertainty with Lily's actions, he was able to discern his gratitude for her sacrifices. He had a deep respect for her and would always wonder what it would have been like to get to know the real Lily. And because of everything she had done for Izar, he felt it was his duty to attend her service and bid a proper farewell.

With Voldemort's continued absence away from his base, Izar was free to go wherever he pleased without a Dark Lord breathing down his neck. The meeting yesterday morning had gone as planned and Izar was proud of himself for acting reasonably well in front of a panel of judging eyes. Tom Riddle had his damned policies and he was currently drafting them with the board of Wizengamot members. It wouldn't take long for the public to hear of the new policies taking hold of Britain.

Oddly enough, Dumbledore and Scrimgeour had been silent. No activity had been traced to their doing. Izar was a bit disappointed. Then again, the battle at Hogwarts had only been a handful of hours ago. From Izar's perspective, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

He took one last look around the quarters before Disapparating away.

**{Death of Today}**

By the time Izar approached Potter, the guests had all left. It had been a relatively small and short service. Izar hadn't seen very many faces he recognized. Then again, he had been viewing the service at a distance, unwilling to wear a glamour to his mother's funeral but not intending to be captured by any stray Aurors lingering about.

Izar slowly walked up behind Potter who had taking residence on a snowy hill out looking the sea. The wizard was standing at the edge, appearing as if he were smelling the wind rushing toward him. "I didn't think you'd come," Potter spoke to Izar at his back.

The younger wizard faltered, wondering if he had been making more noise than he had originally thought. "I told you I would pay my respects to her at the funeral." Izar stopped a few feet away from Potter and fiddled with the white calla lily in his hands. "Thank you for sending me notification of the time and location…" he ended lamely.

Potter turned, eyeing Izar and his smartly dressed figure. A bitter smile crossed the man's lips. "It's odd to see you without a Death Eater mask, it fits you so well."

Izar sneered. "I didn't come here to bicker with you, no matter how appealing that may seem." He dropped the lily down to his side and gradually made his way to the edge of the cliff where Potter was standing. "I wanted to speak to you about her, about Lily." His fingers massaged the steam of the lily, wondering when he had decided to spill everything out to Potter. Despite Lily's refusal to tell her husband, Izar felt as if the man had a right to know.

"What could you possibly have to say?" Potter murmured darkly. "She loved you more than anything. And all you did was continue to curse her for her past mistakes."

Izar lowered his eyelids, staring at the horizon in boredom. "What was I supposed to do, Potter? Change sides of the war just because my long-lost mother showed up in my life when I least needed her?" He cast a sidelong glance at the tall male, eyeing the angry crimson blotches on the man's cheeks. "I had forgiven her, and she knew as much. You should know from Sirius that even family can't change one's loyalties and beliefs. We were on opposite sides of the war, Lily and I."

Turning back to the sea, Izar threw out the war, the politics, and the memories. Right now he was just a deceased woman's son, trying to get her late husband to see the truth.

"I do have a question for you," Izar started after a lengthy silence from Potter. "Why did you continue to put yourself through hell? Did you commit a sin that you thought you had to repay by staying with her?"

"You…" James Potter spluttered, his aura heating brilliantly before cooling suddenly. "She asked the same thing, just days before she died."

Izar looked down at the rocks, watching as the water crashed against them. Foam bubbled at the edges of the cliff, bringing the striking imagery to a completion. It was good to hear that Lily wasn't blind to what she was doing to her husband. She had been aware of what Potter had gone through and she had been just as confused as Izar as to why the man stayed with her. "And what did you say to her?" he asked bluntly, in honest curiosity.

"…I said I loved her," Potter replied hoarsely. "That's why I stayed with her."

This _love_… it was a powerful emotion, Izar realized. It made people do stupid and selfless acts. But it was also ridiculously pure and innocent. He vowed he would never underestimate the power of love. It was an important thing to understand if he had to deal with an enemy who was madly in love with another. Of course they would need to be watched carefully and certainly not be underestimated. It was something Voldemort had insisted on teaching Izar, but not something that Izar had experienced firsthand to understand what the Dark Lord was trying to initiate at the time.

"She suffered from depression," Izar threw the comment in the air, wondering what Potter's reaction would be.

"She told you?"

Izar sighed. Did Potter truly believe depression was all Lily was 'diagnosed' with? "She told me many things that I think you have a right to know." He turned to look at Potter, noticing the man's animated stare. "You need to move on, Potter. You can't dwell in the past, especially when you were kept in the dark for so long." He paused, noticing the growing impatience crossing the man's face. "She didn't have depression." _Idiot. _"She created a Horcrux just days after giving birth to me."

Perhaps he could have broken the news more subtly, judging from Potter's horrified expression. But then again, that wasn't Izar's character.

"I… I don't understand. Why would she do that?"

Interesting. Izar was anticipating Potter to get angry at him for even suggesting something so _Dark_. Instead, Potter's horrified expression turned into heavy grief and guilt. And for some unexplainable reason, Izar believed Potter had subconsciously known about Lily, but had never understood it or accepted it. Now that it was being dangled in front of his face, Potter had no chance of turning a blind eye to it.

"Horcruxes are considered to be the darkest of magic," Izar spoke tensely. "But I can reassure you that she used it for what she believed was right." The Black heir hesitated, pursing his lips tightly before continuing. "To make a long story short, she created a Horcrux in order to save me from a family-borne illness."

James' face crumbled and he placed a large palm over his face. Izar stood across from him uncomfortably, watching as the man's shoulders trembled. "Why didn't she tell me? She suffered alone—"

"No," Izar denied hotly, his eyes narrowing into slits. "She had you. She just didn't tell you she created a Horcrux because she didn't want you to see her as a monster."

Potter snapped, lunging at Izar and curling his hands around his collar. The Auror picked Izar off his feet and dragged him toward the edge of the cliff. Izar kept still, finding himself impressed with the man's brute strength. Only the toes of his shoes caressed the snowy hill beneath him. One push from Potter and Izar would be sent off the cliff. Sadly, it wouldn't be enough to kill him.

"How can you stand there and tell me this with an expressionless mask?" Potter breathed heavily in Izar's face. "You act as if her sacrifice was _nothing_. She gave you everything!"

Izar tipped his head backwards, staring at the blue sky above him. "You have _no_ right to tell me what I'm feeling or what I _felt _for my own mother, Potter," Izar whispered icily. "Just because I'm not blowing a gasket like you are, doesn't mean I don't appreciate what Lily has done." The younger wizard looked calmly away from the sky and rolled his neck around to stare down at Potter.

The man was pathetic. His guilt and grief for Lily needed a source to blame, and right now, it was directed toward Izar. It was a natural reaction, true, but Izar didn't enjoy being accused of not caring. No matter Lily's intentions when she created a Horcrux, Izar would always be grateful to her. He thought admitting his respect was a leap from his usual self, he didn't need to be crying on Potter's shoulder as any more proof.

Potter released Izar's collar, stepping away as if disgusted. "You lot are all the same," Potter whispered brokenly. "Emotions are for the weak."

Izar stood with his heels hanging off the cliff and his toes pressed into the snow. All the while, he watched as Potter struggled with the information handed to him. Grief and sorrow was strong in the air today… yesterday… it was all around him, and it was potent. He hated to admit it, but it was also making him feel uncomfortable and uncertain.

Seeing the grief from not only Potter but from Bellatrix and Narcissa as well, made Izar realize that it was a natural occurrence in a human's life. Overwhelming grief, like the sorrow Izar had experienced with Sirius' death, was something that would either strengthen an individual or leave them in an empty shell the rest of their lives. For Izar, the sharp pain he felt with Sirius would numb with time and perhaps disappear the longer he lived eternity. These others weren't as lucky. They had a relatively short life and couldn't pass off a death as an experience they needed to go through in order to come out stronger.

Izar stared down at the lily in his hands, figuring it was fitting for his mother. He offered a soft smile as his fingertips caressed the velvet petals. Would he forget about her after centuries of living? He highly doubted it, or, in actuality, he was a bit frightened of forgetting her, just as he was frightened of forgetting Sirius. Moving onward was always an unknown, just as death. It took an incredibly strong man to face the unknown with a raised chin.

Turning toward the sea, Izar caressed the flower lovingly before his fingers loosened around it. The wind took hold of the flower for just a moment, blowing it further over the sea before it dropped in the icy waves. Through lowered lashes, Izar watched as the lily struggled to keep adrift, but the crushing waves easily overpowered it.

"Thank you," Potter spoke at his back. "For telling me about Lily. It's difficult right now to deal with so much…"

Izar looked at Potter from over his shoulder, intrigued by the incontrollable mood swings. He hadn't experienced Lucius' wrath yet, and Izar knew it was coming. He also knew that he should visit Draco at the hospital and stand over his bedside like an unhelpful bastard. There was nothing Izar could do to assist a burned victim. His intellect did not stretch to the human anatomy. Hell, he was still trying to find a cure for Regulus' lack of mobility.

He couldn't do anything.

_Nothing_.

A cold rush swept across Izar at the realization. Like Potter, Izar was experiencing an overwhelming sense of guilt and helplessness. It was difficult to remember, but Izar believed this was the first time he had ever experienced real guilt. Well, aside from the time Daphne was poisoned at the Yule Ball and also Izar's scheme to betray Voldemort by replicating the Gaunt Ring… that he hadn't let himself think on just yet.

Draco was a bloody _fool_ for defending the fake Horcrux. It was the blonde's fault! How could someone be so… so bloody determined to get in good graces with the Dark Side?

"_You know that's not why he defended the Horcrux," _a nasty voice whispered in Izar's mind. _"He defended it out of honor for _you_. You led him to believe that the Horcrux was important and that he should protect it with his life. But in reality, he just wanted to impress you and repay you for saving his father." _

Izar pressed his lips together and walked stiffly toward Potter. "You can't change what happened, Potter. You couldn't have even stopped it if you tried." He crossed his arms awkwardly over his chest as he grimaced at the man standing across from him. "The guilt you're experiencing is ridiculous and it's not worth your time. Move on."

Potter eyed Izar's awkward stance and scoffed. "You are incredibly sympathetic," the man murmured cynically. "But I understand…" the man trailed off, leaving it as that. It was awkward for both men and they both had their own emotions to deal with. Alone. "Thank you for coming to her funeral. She would have been happy to see you here."

Izar nodded once farewell before walking past Potter and down the hill. His nostrils flared and his vision began to blur. He knew he was losing control on what little restraint he was capable of possessing. It wouldn't be long before something tipped his control and sent him spiraling. Everything was piled up so closely together, Izar was having trouble thinking over every little detail logically and analyzing it to the point of exhaustion. It was what he usually did, but lately, he was having difficulty even getting himself to think on these issues at hand. Draco, death, immortality, Lily, Rufus, Lucius, Aiden's vision, this transition in his life… it was all a mess. But hopefully he could cross Lily off his list. He firmly believed he had put her to rest and analyzed the situation as best as he could considering the circumstances.

As soon as Izar escaped to the foot of the hill, he Disapparated away, hoping to find answers by means of heavy segregation. Only, as soon as he arrived at the base, he had to blink once in order to process what he was seeing. He wasn't alone and he wouldn't have the time he needed to figure things out himself.

He hadn't expected Voldemort to be present at the base for at least another few days. And yet, here was Voldemort, sitting cross-legged on an armchair. The man's long fingers cupped his chin lazily and the pad of his thumb pressed against his lips. Those crimson eyes were watching Izar closely, suspiciously. Next to the Dark Lord's chair, Izar recognized Lily's letter open with the photograph placed strategically on top of it.

Izar tried to reconstruct his expression to one of cool nonchalance. The crimson eyes staring at him saw so much and Izar wasn't too sure he had succeeded in veiling his unease.

"You're good, child," the Dark Lord whispered silkily before sitting up and leaning toward Izar. "But not _that _good."

The Black heir placed his hands in his pockets and leaned smartly against the fireplace. He stared back at the man, not liking the way Voldemort was staring right _through _him. "I didn't think you would be back at the base so soon after putting your policies in place." Izar cocked his head to the side. "Have you hit a obstruction?"

Voldemort chuckled beneath his breath but his eyes were dark and forbidding. "I'm on lunch break."

Izar looked over the Dark Lord's head and toward the clock, noticing it was nearing five o'clock in the afternoon. "I see," he mused. "And I also see that you picked up decent reading material to keep yourself occupied in my absence. Something addressed in _my _name." It didn't anger him as much as it would have. In fact, Izar thought it was good for Voldemort to see in the mind of a woman who created a Horcrux.

Plucking the letter from the nearby table, Voldemort assessed the letter with a cool gaze. "What's mine is yours, what's yours is mine," he intoned possessively. "I have little time left to spend with you before I have to arrive back at the Ministry. I hadn't known that her funeral was scheduled for today, otherwise I would have sought you out earlier." The Dark Lord calmly folded Lily's letter and placed it back on the table. "Mind telling me what's on your mind?"

Leaning his head further against the stone fireplace, Izar shrugged. "I have nothing on my mind. I'm just a bit overwhelmed with the end of the war, is all."

Voldemort unfolded his tall frame from the armchair and approached Izar. "Let's cut the petty lies, Izar. While you may be ignorant toward our link, I certainly am not. I can feel your turmoil and melancholy. Quite frankly, I was unaware that anything transpired that would warrant such emotion from you." The Dark Lord came to a stop in front of Izar's lazy form. There was a crease between the man's eyebrows as he tried to piece together something he couldn't possibly understand.

_I was unaware that anything transpired that would warrant such emotion from you._ That's just the thing, though. Was Izar overreacting? Was there truly nothing to get upset over? If that was the case, then why was Izar, who was relatively impassive, so… preoccupied with these alien emotions?

And even if Izar _needed _Voldemort to help him past this… this barrier, the man wouldn't be able to assist. The Dark Lord most likely hadn't experienced this before and it was up to Izar to cope with it himself and struggle past it. And he would be able to. He knew it. But right now, it seemed like the end wasn't anywhere in sight. He was used to doing things by himself. When had he started to rely on Voldemort?

After minutes of silence, Voldemort stroked Izar's cheek roughly before turning away. "I cannot _help _you, if you refuse to speak. Hopefully when I return, you will let me in." The tone was cruel and hard, even if the words hadn't been.

Izar kept his attention forward, even when Voldemort exited the chambers. As soon as the door slammed shut, Izar bowed his head forward and placed his hands over his face. Slowly, his fingers turned into claws and he sliced his skin apart as he raked his hands upward. He curled his fingers in his hair and pulled at it desperately. All these _emotions_!

"I don't know what's wrong with me!" he admitted hotly to the empty room, vowing silently to himself that he would get through this in one piece.

* * *

{**Notes**} This chapter was another difficult one to write. Izar's going through a phase/transition in his life right now and he will undoubtedly be feeling uncertain/lost/depressed. Next chapter, you'll be getting some unresolved questions answered.

Also, I wanted to thank those of you who enjoyed the battle scenes from last chapter. It really made me feel better that they weren't too bad. So thank you. :)


	69. Part II Chapter 37

_Thank you for reading/reviewing. Grammar mistakes involved in this chapter. Also, thanks to Lekaiel for the wonderful piece of fanart. _

**Chapter Thirty Seven**

Small hands grabbed the photograph from beside his kneeling form. With stiff and automotive movements, the boy placed the moving photograph over the candle. Regulus could only stare at the scene in shocked silence. Through wide eyes, he watched as the boy set aflame one of the very few photographs Regulus had of Izar.

"_Aiden_! What are you doing?"

Regulus pushed his wheelchair into the bathroom, unable to understand what he was witnessing. Before he could rescue the photograph, the flame caught the edge, curling it before the whole photo was embraced by flame. The boy holding the photograph pursed his lips and made a loud explosion sound. Regulus winced backward as the photograph then… exploded, as if willed to do so by the boy manipulating it.

Slowly, Aiden turned to Regulus, his eyes milky white and unfocused. "Do you have a photograph of Tom Riddle?" he asked in a melancholy voice.

Regulus stared at the candle that had gone back to being a calm and beautiful element. The boy's hands were unharmed, as was his person. While Regulus had seen Aiden like this before, it took a great deal of restraint to stand in the face of an unfocused Seer. It was times like these that Regulus had to recover from his own uncertainty and horror to question Aiden about the vision. It was getting more common for Aiden to forget his vision when he woke from his trance.

"Why…" Regulus cleared his throat, watching the boy he had come to love as his own. "Why would you want a picture of Tom Riddle?" _Of Izar? _

Aiden, whose hair was now completely black and whose features were now mirroring Regulus', smiled with an open mouth. "Because she's going to set him aflame like he did to Izar."

Regulus tightened his hands on his wheelchair. Obviously, Aiden was initiating that Izar was going to die—as was Tom Riddle. Ironic. Fire was the means that would destroy an immortal creature? It seemed so simple, so insignificant. Then again, Aiden was walking the line between 'setting aflame' and 'explosion'.

"Who is _she_?"

"Izar's mistake."

Izar's mistake? Regulus frowned as he observed as Aiden got to his knees and stared intensely at the single flame. "Who isIzar's mistake?" Regulus pressed hotly. If he could just find out who _she _was, he could try to forewarn Izar. What good could Regulus do for his son if he didn't know the finer details?

Aiden exhaled breathlessly, causing the flame to dance relentlessly. "She is," he replied vaguely. "Izar is acting stupid." White eyes turned to stare at Regulus. "Izar thinks he can stop it, but it's unavoidable. If Izar tries to ignore it, Tom Riddle will also be blown up."

The candle in front of Aiden suddenly exploded, causing hot wax to splatter across the boy's face.

"_Severus_!" Regulus called hoarsely, quickly rolling his wheelchair toward the boy. Aiden was now sitting, stunned, his dark grey eyes wide and completely ignorant of the events that had just transpired.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time, my son?" Regulus whispered to Izar, all the while, trying to remove the hot wax from Aiden's skin.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar sat hunched over the _Daily Prophet, _silently fuming. On the front page, Tom Riddle was walking the length of the Ministry floor, the cameras flashing in his wake. "Bloody ponce," Izar criticized scornfully. The reporters were reporting on Minister Riddle's policies being set in place and the dwindling attacks on Britain. They had only hinted toward the upcoming policies Riddle would announce to the Wizarding world this weekend. Nothing was set in stone just yet, and the public and the press were agitated and anxious.

But that's not what Izar was fuming over. In fact, the story he was currently looking at was on the second page. The article literally jumped up at Izar, its font dripping with bold ink.

_Rufus Scrimgeour found dead in home, suicide!_

Convenient. The article itself had even more icing on the cake than the headline… in fact, Izar saw too much icing and it made him gag with the perfection of it. It painted Dumbledore and Scrimgeour as unstable wizards who were in the wrong this entire war. This article had Lord Voldemort's prints slathered all over it. One paragraph, in particular, would change the public's view on both Dumbledore and Rufus in a matter of seconds.

_A trusted source within the Ministry claimed that Scrimgeour became almost one-minded and deranged when it came to the Dark Lord. The source, who was close to the late Minister, claimed that Mr. Scrimgeour and Dumbledore were 'co-conspiring' together and both agreed to ally with the Dark Lady of France. _

_The eye-source claims, "I had respected Rufus. He was a good wizard, a respected member of the Ministry. But Dumbledore was a bad influence on him. Towards the end of his term, the longer Rufus kept in contact with Dumbledore, the more… unstable he became. He kept accusing many of the Ministry workers that they were actually the Dark Lord. Or…" the man laughed. "He even claimed that _Cornelius Fudge_ was actually the Dark Lord in disguise." _

Rufus Scrimgeour didn't commit suicide. The man was too proud to stoop so low. The Dark Lord was using Rufus' death as means to slur Scrimgeour's and Dumbledore's name. With this article, with the countless of newspapers reporting the same thing, the public would never take their word seriously again. If anyone with a connection to Dumbledore or Scrimgeour went to the press and claimed Tom Riddle was Lord Voldemort, they wouldn't be taken seriously.

As always, Voldemort was a step ahead of his enemies.

But… that didn't give the Dark Lord _any _right. Izar stood up abruptly, causing his chair to clatter to the ground behind him. He placed both hands on the table and bowed his head, staring at the _Daily Prophet _in unfocused rage. He remembered the first day he met Rufus Scrimgeour. Their instant attraction and interest had been tangible at first glance. They always enjoyed dancing around the other. And while they were both enemies, there was also something _deeper. _

"_I think you have a remarkable set of morals, Izar." _

"He was _mine_!" Izar roared hoarsely, his eyes blurring with unshed tears. He brought back his arm and flung it forward, sending the porcelain cups and plates crashing to the ground. The resentment and desperation caused his hands to tremble as he reached for the edge of the table and flung it over in a fit of rage. The piece of furniture landed on its side, destroying on impact.

Izar was left standing in the debris, staring at it in slight surprise. Lowering his eyes, he fell to his knees and slowly curled his body in an upright fetal position in order to gather his wits. With his head rested on the top of his knees, Izar stared at a piece of broken porcelain at his feet. When was the last time he had lost control like this? What… what had made him react this way? It had to be his fragile resolve, and at the moment, hearing of Rufus' death sent him over the edge.

Sluggishly, he reached toward the shards of porcelain and clawed at them. The sharp pieces made his fingers bleed but he continued with numbness as the memory of the old lion preoccupied his thoughts.

Rufus saw him as human, even when Izar never felt like one himself. Even when his emotions were never up to par, were never _normal _compared to others… Rufus still saw something in him, something that others had trouble finding. It made Izar feel… it made him _feel_ human. The old lion was far too prideful and strong to die a death like that. To others, they would see Rufus' death as a suicide and they would also see it as cowardly. It was an insult to both Rufus and Izar. Voldemort had _known _that Rufus was Izar's opposite. Just like Dumbledore was the Dark Lord's. To take Rufus' fate in his own hands made Izar furious.

_"I couldn't care a less about the Dark Lord. I don't want _you_ in the crossfire."_

Though, if Izar looked at this from a logical standpoint, he wondered if he could truly kill Rufus if he had been ordered to do so by the Dark Lord. If Izar had been assigned to actually _do _something away from the base and hunt after Rufus, would he have been able to land the killing blow?

No. He wouldn't have been able to. This suicide was exactly as Voldemort wanted it. Izar would have never been able to kill Scrimgeour in such a way. The only way he would have been able to kill the old lion was if he had given the other man a fair shot. He definitely would have had more respect for Rufus and left it as a murder rather than a fake suicide.

While he could have killed Rufus, he wouldn't have been able to carry it out in the way it was meant to be.

Nonetheless, it still didn't sit well with Izar. Nothing about this end-of-the-war rubbish sat well with him. Rufus and Lily… _Draco_…

Izar stared at his fingers that were now sitting in a pool of their own blood. He considered the clotty blood, watching as his fingers healed before tearing open again at his manipulations. Seconds passed into minutes before he finally stood up.

What was he doing? Sitting here… dwelling. Doing nothing.

Vibrant eyes looked up sharply. It was time to face his demons rather than wait for them to come to him.

**{Death of Today}**

With one of Tom Riddle's hats and a pair of glasses as simple disguise, Izar found his way into St. Mungos and was currently leaning heavily against the wall outside the _room_. He could feel their auras inside the hospital room. They were all there; Narcissa, Lucius, and even Daphne was present. Draco's aura was incredibly dim and Izar hadn't felt it at first. It took him a few minutes outside the room to really pinpoint Draco's presence.

It wasn't… the aura was fading. Quickly.

Izar bowed his head, pushing his fists into his pockets. He knew Draco wouldn't survive. The smells of burned flesh and medical ointment were scorching his nostrils. But those odors weren't nearly as bad as the scent of death. Draco was rotting from the inside out, his intestines too damaged in the fire to be saved.

The Black heir stared at the wall from over his glasses.

What the hell had he been thinking?

He wondered, briefly, who the question was directed toward. Himself or Draco. Either one of them deserved a good amount of blame for what had happened. Though, even if Izar felt a semblance of guilt, it shouldn't make him huddle in a corner and hide. It wasn't his character to feel guilty, and for some strange reason, his sorrow for Draco's condition outweighed his guilt over the situation. It certainly shouldn't make him stand here like a bloody idiot.

He glowered at the wall before pushing off and quietly entering the room. He hadn't brought any flowers or anything worth material value. It definitely wouldn't have been welcomed or warranted. Draco's bedside was decorated heavily with flowers and cards expressing sympathies. They didn't do much good, considering Draco couldn't see them past his wrapped form.

Izar planted both feet on the tiled floor and surveyed the situation. Narcissa and Lucius were sitting as far away from one another as possible, which was odd to Izar. Usually grieving parents tended to rely on one another for support. Then again, he also read about parents splitting after a death of their child. Certainly that wouldn't happen to Lucius and Narcissa. Both blondes were made for one another. Izar believed it may take time for them to reunite, but Draco's death wouldn't tear them apart indefinitely.

Next to Narcissa, Daphne sat. Her expression was pinched with grief and her eyes were red from crying. Even her aura was dimmer than Izar had last seen it and centered around her… stomach? Izar cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing sharply. Daphne's aura was overlapped around her belly, giving Izar a suddenly cold realization.

As if sensing his scrutiny, Daphne looked away from the window next to Draco's bed and toward him. A frown of confusion crossed her features before she broke out into abrupt comprehension. "_Izar_!"

"Daphne," Izar replied evenly. He held his arms open, surprised that she was rushing toward him with her arms extended. She collided with his torso, burying her face in his chest. Unexpectedly, Izar found his arms willingly wrapping around her, embracing the small body close to him.

"He…" Daphne trailed off, inhaling deeply in order to calm her tremors. "He hasn't woken up at all since the attack. The Healers said he only has hours at best…" She clutched desperately at Izar's robes, turning to stare up at him through wet eyes. "Granger said he and Weasley had been fighting in the Room of Requirements…" She shook her head. "Over something of the Dark Lord's possession. Do you know anything about it? You're so close to the Dark Lord, I would think you had some idea what it could be about."

Izar released his arms around Daphne and took a step backward in order to gather himself. Taking off the glasses and the hat, Izar walked toward Draco's prone form. For now, he avoided Lucius' eyes in favor of watching the magic function Draco's heart. The sound was terrible. It was an artificial breath that raised Draco's chest, something that hinted toward the boy's ailing body.

It was horrible seeing the boy like this. Izar would have liked to see Draco's face one last time. Instead, potion-soaked bandages wrapped around the blond, giving the boy the appearance of an ancient Egyptian mummy. While the potion may be able to restore some of Draco's skin, it was useless against damaged nerves and organs. Perhaps, if they would have gotten to Draco sooner, they may have been able to save him. From what Izar could smell, the organs had shut down a long time before the Healers got to him.

Anger stirred within Izar. Why would Narcissa and Lucius put Draco through this hell? Did they really think Draco could pull through this? Did they honestly hold that much faith in their healthcare system that they would make Draco suffer?

Izar stared wide-eyed. His eyes grew unfocused as he listened to the magic operating around the room. He could only imagine what indescribable torment Draco was going through. The boy was most likely trapped inside his own body, unable to scream or voice his protests. There was a soul inside that burned body, desperate to leave and escape the never-ending pain.

It was similar to what Izar imagined resurrection would be. No matter how restful or grim the afterlife would be, it would unbearable to be torn away from that and thrust back into this hell. It was only the selfish that would put their loved ones through that kind of torment. And right now, Lucius and Narcissa were being inconsiderate of Draco's pain.

Izar's hand inched up and toward the aura surrounding the machines linking Draco to this world. Just as he was about to sever the magic, he stopped.

"Izar?" Daphne called uncertainly at his back.

Dropping his arm, Izar realized this wasn't his decision to make. He felt strongly against what Lucius and Narcissa were doing, and yet, he also understood their grief was high. They wanted to keep Draco with them as long as possible. They needed a sliver of hope that Draco would pull through and be with them once again.

Izar wondered what he would do in their position if Regulus or Sirius had been in that bed. What if Sirius had barely survived the Horcrux attack and had a chance of living? Would Izar put Sirius through what Draco was going through, hoping against all odds that his uncle would survive? The answer to that question was difficult for Izar to accept.

And then, as if to make Izar understand what grief could do to an individual, Draco's prone body morphed into Voldemort.

Izar turned frozen and he bowed forward, clutching harshly at the foot of Draco's bed. That wouldn't be Voldemort. The Dark Lord would never find himself in that position... he… he wouldn't be near death. It couldn't happen.

_But it could. And you would do exactly what Lucius and Narcissa are doing to Draco. _

He was startled at the realization, and even more startled at his reaction. He had never pondered on Voldemort dying.

"Izar…" Daphne whispered softly. Her small arms encircled his waist, bringing him out of his stupor. "I know it's difficult to see him like this. I've been staring at him for hours and I still can't…" she trailed off hoarsely, turning away.

"I—" Izar began, only to pause. His mind raced as he tried to remember Daphne's earlier question. He straightened up, dropping her arm around him in the process. "Draco defended something of great importance that belonged to the Dark Lord," Izar spoke numbly. "Lord Voldemort is appreciative of Draco's bravery and sacrifice…" he trailed off, realizing how pathetically foolish he sounded.

"If he is so appreciative of my son sacrificing his life for an _artifact_," Narcissa began darkly, "Then why isn't he here?"

_Because he doesn't care, I do. _Izar pressed his lips together, staring at the prone figure of Draco. The magic around Draco was like a dying star. Soon, it would be extinguished along with the body it inhibited. Draco had just started to mature; he had just started to see the world through renowned eyes. The boy shouldn't have died so young.

Curling his fingers around the foot of Draco's bed, Izar turned and looked at Narcissa in the eye. "Because he asked me to come here in his stead. I needed to visit Draco myself and he thought I could relay his message." It was cold and rigid. To them, it sounded as if the Dark Lord couldn't take time off his busy schedule to see a boy who was dying for his cause. In reality, it was much worse. Voldemort didn't care about Draco in the least.

Narcissa stared coldly at Izar before she turned away, dismissing him cruelly. And because Izar couldn't resist it any longer, he averted his eyes away from Narcissa and on to Lucius. The blond sat sullenly in his chair, staring stubbornly at Draco. Though, his eyes were oddly bright and focused as cold anger burned underneath the surface. His disfigured lips were pressed together tightly and his fingers were curled into fists on his lap.

"Can't you do anything, Izar?" Daphne inquired hoarsely from behind him. She pulled on his shirt, staring up at him with desperate eyes. There was also hopefulness in her gaze as she believed Izar was a god sent to cure Draco with a wave of his wand. "You're so smart; there must be _something _you can do."

"Apparently I'm not smart enough," Izar murmured bitterly. As her eyes reflected her disappointment, Izar found whatever he was going to say next vanished on his tongue. He shouldn't be here. How could someone think he could cure a burned body? He wasn't _God. _He was an inventor—an inventor who had time on his side and wasn't rushed to save a dying human.

He was frustrated with Daphne for even thinking he could miraculously save Draco's life. And how could she be disappointed in him for telling her the truth? Would she rather he gave her a false sense of hope?

His eyes turned away from her to drink in the lifeless form of Draco. Staring at the boy, Izar realized he wasn't grieving for Draco with intensity that matched the blondes around him. He didn't belong here. He was _incapable _of feeling their depth of sorrow for Draco's death. Just as he was incapable of feeling sorrow for Lily's death. He didn't know his mother, he wanted to, yes. The curiosity of wanting to know her was stronger than his grief over her death.

With a sidelong glance at Lucius, Izar realized the main factor that brought him here was his fear of Lucius' reaction. Was Izar repentant for handing Draco the fake Horcrux? Not really. He remembered his conversation with Draco the day he presented it to the younger Malfoy. He specifically told the boy to put it in the Room of Requirements. He had never instructed Draco to defend it. Ever.

Was he remorseful for having a hand in killing Lucius' son? Yes. When it came to Lucius, Izar felt responsible. But not for the boy himself. It could be considered callous of him, but he couldn't make himself feel torn for Draco's death. He was upset at the pain Draco was currently going through and he did wish things could have ended differently for his distant cousin, most definitely. Draco hadn't deserved this death, not when he had his whole life ahead of him.

His fingers tightened on the metal footboard. "I'm sorry for your loss," he spoke curtly, honestly, before turning his heel and making a leave for the room.

And _there_, he heard it. Underneath Daphne's call, Izar head Lucius' chair scrape against the floor as the blond stood up. Izar pinched the top of Riddle's hat and placed it on his head as he escaped the room. As he walked down the dark and quiet corridor, he was more than aware of the footsteps following him.

Izar turned a sharp corner, bringing them away from anyone who would stumble across them. A sick thrill rushed through Izar at the prospect of what Lucius planned to do to him. Would Lucius be the one who would be able to kill Izar? If anyone were to—

The strong hand grabbed Izar's thin shoulder and turned him around forcefully. He allowed himself to be pushed against the wall and even let the arm press itself flush against his throat. If he were human, Izar knew he would have been struggling for air and trying to protect himself against a neck fracture. It was times like these that Izar wished he was human. To feel pain, to allow a grieve-stricken father to extract revenge.

"Shall I pretend it hurts?" Izar breathed as Lucius pressed his forearm against his throat.

The blonde's eyebrows were furrowed deeply and his eyes were exceedingly bright with rage and desperation. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to pin you against a wall, but for an entirely different reason than this." Lucius then flattened his body flush against Izar's. "Do you have _any _idea what you've done?" Lucius demanded sharply, baring his teeth. "You've torn my _son _away from me! From my wife. It was our child!"

Izar frowned deeply. It was just yesterday when he witnessed Potter's grief. While he had watched Potter suffer in silence, Izar hadn't been affected by the scene. But somehow, now, he watched Lucius' grief unravel and he felt miserable.

"You're a fool," Lucius continued with a growl. "You gave… you gave my _son _a fake Horcrux to defend his life with."

"I…I didn't," Izar denied, his voice coming out hoarse due to Lucius pressing against his voice box. "I never told him to defend it with his life. I just told him to put it in the Room of Requirements because I knew Granger and Weasley had been following him around Hogwarts. How could I have known he would have gone back and stepped into the path of Weasley's botched curse?"

Lucius' eyes dilated and he pushed his weight further into Izar's throat. "Excuses, they mean nothing! You put my son in risk the minute you gave him a fake Horcrux. You knew what would happen—"

"And the both of you knew what would happen when he landed on his knees, begging for that Mark on his arm!" Izar hissed.

Something in Lucius' eyes froze at Izar's words before they narrowed once again. "He was under your protection, I knew that much. Don't think I don't know that you have a selected few who you deem under your protection. He was one of them! He was only a child, he wasn't like _you_. He should have never been touched by this war." Lucius' expression and voice was that of a threatened serpent. The blond only ever acted this way when he was faced with an enemy he wanted to demolish. "Was that your type of protection… to lead my son by the noose?"

"I always wanted to protect your son," Izar whispered hollowly. "I never wanted this to happen to Draco." And he didn't. He didn't. He cared for Draco, yes, but he cared for Lucius even more. "Are you going to kill me?" Izar asked in true interest.

Lucius eyes narrowed and he leaned close to Izar's face. "Don't insult me!" Lucius ripped his arm away from Izar's throat. "Even if I would be able to, I owe you a life-debt. To insist I would go back on my word is disgraceful." The man's eyes flashed strangely before he bowed his head. "Attacking you was never my intention."

The disappointment came first before Izar grew truly curious. Before he could question the blond further, Lucius lunged forward, taking his head in his hands and kissing him firmly on the lips. Green and charcoal eyes widened as he noticed how soft and full Lucius' mouth was compared to Voldemort's thin and dry lips. He preferred the latter, especially now that Lucius' lips were disfigured, bringing with it a coarse caress that almost tickled Izar.

The second thing he became aware of was his Celtic ring flaring hotly. Izar squeezed his eyes closed, baffled at the ferocity of Lucius' attack on his mouth. It wasn't what he imagined kissing Lucius would be like. In fact, he hadn't even imagined being with Lucius sexually. It had always been just playful flirtation. It was always just _Voldemort _he could tolerate being with.

His Dark Mark began to burn and Izar knew Lucius felt it as well. Yet the blond seemed to take his burning Mark as encouragement and continue with savagery. Lucius clutched at Izar's face, holding him in place as he caressed the younger wizard's mouth with his tongue.

It was the man's actions when their Marks began to burn that alerted Izar to what Lucius was really doing. The blond wanted Voldemort to take notice. Virtually, in all ways, Izar was deemed 'untouchable' to Lucius. The man was so consumed with his grief that he wanted an end to living a life without his son. He was too prideful to kill himself, so Lucius could think of the only alternative—have the Dark Lord hunt him down for assaulting Izar.

Silent fury brightened Izar's eyes he pulled forcibly away from Lucius. With speed too quick for a human to track, Izar turned their positions around and pushed the blond against the wall. He curled both hands into Lucius' robes, sliding the man further up the wall. "Next time you want to die, ask me personally, Lucius. I don't like being treated as a mere possession of the Dark Lord's."

"I would have killed two birds with one stone," Lucius hissed icily with no regret. "Acted on what I've been longing for and dying before my son's body shut down."

Izar shook his head, offended at the answer. He dropped Lucius, turning his shoulder on the man in order to tame his disappointment in Lucius' actions. "_That_, Lucius, is an act of offense. Not only to me in regarding a betrayal to my lover, but also to the memory of your son and the well-being of the family you have left." Izar tilted his head in order to catch Lucius' eye. "And it's also an insult to your honor. You're far more proud than this, Lucius."

The blond leaned against the wall and stared at Izar from beneath white-blond hair. The man said nothing.

"I'm… I'm _sorry_, for what happened to Draco. If I could do it over again, I would have protected him more than I had. I thought, by giving him the Horcrux and sending him to Hogwarts, I would be putting him away from the war," Izar began tensely. "It was never my intention to make him think he had to stand guard over it and put himself at risk. They were all children in a man's war. All three of them. Weasley, Granger, and Draco acted on what the adult's instructed them to do; they acted on what they overheard. They held no real grudges against each other. What happened in the Room of Requirements was an _accident_."

He watched as Lucius bowed his head and placed his hands over his face. It was startling similar to the pose Potter struck yesterday at Lily's funeral. It was as if both men tried to hide the fact that they were crying, doubtless of the fact that putting their hands over their face did nothing to conceal their grief. Izar watched, curious.

Potter grew angry when he was grieving and he also cried. Bellatrix curled inside a shell, refusing to interact with the world around her. Narcissa put a solid wall around her vulnerability and snapped at anyone who she thought had a hand in her son's death. And Lucius mirrored Potter in terms of how he handled grief.

They were all people Izar learned to respect and identify as strong witches and wizards. Did seeing them grieve make him view them as anything less? No. It didn't. It was perfectly normal to grieve, he realized. When he had cried and screamed in the snow with Sirius' corpse those many weeks ago, Izar felt ashamed for how he had acted. He had wanted to know what the customary way to grieve was. In which way could he grieve without appearing weak?

The answer finally came to him after standing with so many people as they lost loved ones. There was no set way to grieve. Everyone had their own way of handling grief and Izar was no different.

He reached out a hand and curled if firmly around Lucius' wrist, tugging it down in order to see the man's emotions. Lucius tried to resist against the action, too ashamed to have Izar see him in this state. "Seeing you grieve for your son, in no way, makes you any less of a wizard, Lucius." Izar kept his hand around the blonde's wrist and took a step closer to him.

Firmly, confidently, he cupped Lucius' face with his opposite hand and tried to send as many comforting vibes to the man as he could summon. Lucius froze as Izar placed his forehead against his own. It was his way of comforting, Izar supposed. He had never comforted someone like this before. But it felt natural with Lucius.

"My shoulders are strong enough to carry the blame of Draco's death," Izar whispered, locking eyes with stormy grey. "Whatever it takes for you to continue _living_. Your son idolized you, Lucius. Don't disappoint him now when it's most crucial."

Lucius' eyelashes fluttered as he looked down and away from Izar's eyes. His throat contracted and he exhaled noisily across Izar's face. The Black heir slid his hand down Lucius' cheek to the man's chest. For a long moment, he was content to listen to a strong and healthy heartbeat. For the amount of death Izar had experienced these past few days, it was a relief to hear and feel the thrumming life of someone he cared for.

Izar then released Lucius and turned to leave. He didn't know when he would ever see Lucius again, perhaps never. But he was content knowing he had faced this himself without it having to come to him. He would have never been able to continue living his life without facing the guilt of Draco's death head on.

His steps faltered when he saw Daphne standing quietly at the corner. She hadn't been there long, he knew. Judging from her expression, she had just stumbled across them mere seconds ago.

"Perhaps it's too early, Daphne," Izar mused dryly. "But it might be beneficial to take a pregnancy test."

From the shocked auras pulsating across the corridor, he assumed he successfully gave them something else to occupy their minds with.

The next generation of Malfoys… _charming_.

**{Death of Today}**

When Izar arrived at the base, he stepped into the living room, casting a distrustful look around the darkened wing. Because of his creature-blood, he was able to discern a dim outline of the objects in front of him. While he wasn't exactly handicapped in the dark, he wasn't as sharp as he ought to be.

He could have lightened the room, but where was the fun in that? Especially when he felt the Dark Lord's presence stalking in the shadows. Judging from the man's aura, Izar determined that Voldemort was in a playful and irate mood. Two contradictory emotions, but something Izar wasn't unfamiliar with when it came to the Dark Lord.

A finger caressed the back of Izar's neck and the younger turned, predictably coming up empty-handed on the man's whereabouts. "Stop toying with me," Izar growled out. A tug came at his sleeve and Izar used his quick reflexes to turn, annoyed when the man avoided being seen once again. "Lucius was grieving," Izar started crisply. He knew exactly what the Dark Lord was irate over. "He thought it prudent to end his life by drawing your ire. So he…"

"Kissed you?" the man breathed the question in Izar's ear.

Izar stayed passive, not wanting to look like a fool for chasing his own tail, but also bidding his time. There would come a time to strike and Izar would wait patiently until it happened. After all, he had learned from the very best.

"Touched you?" Voldemort's hand squeezed tightly around the nape of Izar's neck before it disappeared as quickly as it came.

And then, Voldemort leaned even closer to him, his tie from today's workday at the Ministry dangling from the corner of Izar's eye. The Black heir smiled thinly, keeping himself facing forward. His fingers flexed beside him as he tried to keep his expression impassive. If Izar wasn't careful enough, Voldemort would notice his excitement and switch positions.

"You belong to _me_."

The dark possessiveness in the man's tone was Izar's cue to strike before Voldemort did. He turned swiftly, lunging into Voldemort and catching the man's tie in a tight fist before the wizard could slither away. With a renowned excitement, Izar tugged harshly at the man's tie, feeling extremely conceited at being the one in control. Through narrowed eyes, he watched as Voldemort neck was forced to go whichever way Izar pleased.

Twisting the tie around his fist, Izar twirled them around and pushed Voldemort into the wall. Keeping a sturdy hold on the man's tie, Izar leaned into Voldemort's tall form and gazed up at the man. "Sometimes you are far too predictable," Izar breathed in admittance. He tugged on the man's tie once again, forcing Voldemort to bend his neck. Izar pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the man's lips, wanting to taste the man he found both unbearable and intoxicating.

Voldemort placed both palms on Izar's cheeks and deepened the kiss as far as he could achieve. The man's tongue eagerly claimed Izar's lips and mouth, as if to wash away Lucius' taste and reclaim Izar as his own. Only, the kiss didn't last as long as Izar wanted it to. The man pulled away, tugging his tie from Izar's grasp. Though, he didn't pull away from his position against the wall and instead surveyed Izar closely.

Voldemort was still glamoured as Minister Riddle but the man's eyes were a vivid crimson behind his fake spectacles. "You're going back to the Ministry?" Izar questioned, surprised to find a thick bitterness in his tone.

The Dark Lord cocked his head to the side, offering Izar a smug smile. "I will stay as long as you wish me to." He brought up his hand and ran his fingers down Izar's throat. His eyes took in the familiar hat Izar wore. "Are we now entering that phase in our relationship where we share our wardrobes?"

"Perhaps," Izar replied. "I hope, with time, you'd allow me to wear those purple pointed boots Fudge gave you those many months ago. They are supreme."

Voldemort flashed his teeth and traced the brim of Izar's hat. "Indeed they are. If you prove you can take care of my other possessions, you will be allowed to wear them." His expression darkened. "Although, you will not be permitted to wear them when visiting a certain blond."

Izar sighed through his nose, knowing that it needed to be addressed. "I already told you Lucius' reasons behind his actions. It meant nothing to both of us—"

"Such lies," the Dark Lord hissed quietly. "From the moment the man laid eyes on you, he's wanted you. He's been warned once." Voldemort eyed Izar critically before clutching either side of his face. "You know I do not stand passively if someone initiates a challenge."

Izar allowed a small smirk to stretch. "I know that more than anyone, My Lord. But I'm _asking _you to leave Lucius alone. I've already spoken to him, he won't do it again." The younger wizard then paused, considering. "At any rate, you told me the Celtic band would stop activating after you took my virginity. You didn't tell me it was a fidelity ring." Izar lifted his hand, thrusting the onyx metal in the direction of the inexpressive Dark Lord. "If I'm tied to you so severely, I only think it's fair that you're tied to me as well. How do I know you're not fucking your secretary over your desk?"

Voldemort's eyes widened in false horror as his fingers tightened their hold on Izar's face. "That imagery _is _appealing." The Dark Lord averted his eyes from the ceiling to Izar. "There is a position open for my immediate secretary; perhaps you'd be interested in applying? However, I cannot guarantee your placement."

Clenching his jaw, Izar pushed away the Dark Lord's hands, irritation fuming. "You must be extremely bored at the Ministry, My Lord. I can imagine you sitting in on meetings, conjuring up witty remarks when you should be listening to your new coworkers." Izar backed away until he was leaning against the back of the couch. "Rest assured, I don't find your comments amusing at all."

The Dark Lord gave a deep chuckle as he adjusted his tie properly. "So hard to please, child." Voldemort pushed off from the wall and glided further into the dark room. With a sharp snap of his wrist, the fireplace and candles roared to life, casting light across the small living room.

Voldemort then leaned over the opposite side of the couch and stared up at Izar's turned face. "Believe it or not, Izar, the Celtic bands are _two _way. I'm just not as hormonal as you are and haven't put it to the test. I find my desires for blond men rather lacking in comparison to insolent brunettes."

Izar turned, staring at the Dark Lord who inhabited Tom Riddle's body. "Is there a reason you're here? Besides irritating the hell out of me?" Izar cocked his head to the side, considering the man. "If its sex, I'm afraid I'm not in the _mood_."

"It's not sex," the man denied coolly. "No matter how attractive that idea may seem."

Frowning thoughtfully, Izar watched as Voldemort stood tall and swept toward the liquor cart. The Dark Lord wouldn't drop everything at the Ministry just because he felt his Celtic band burn for a few seconds. It had to be another reason and Izar came up empty-handed. Yesterday night, Voldemort had come back to the base because the man claimed he had 'felt' Izar's unsettledness. Their exchange hadn't gone well then and Izar hadn't expected to see the man again for a few days.

But he was here now and Izar was quick enough to spy how the man's posture grew stiff and less graceful. It was almost if the man were… embarrassed… almost uncomfortable. The crimson eyes remained averted away from Izar as the man poured himself a glass of red wine. Apparently to settle the nerves.

"You seem… more stable from last night," Voldemort began after a large sip of his wine.

And then Izar suddenly realized what this was about. His ears seemed to turn hot with the realization that Voldemort was here to _talk _about Izar's feelings. After all, the man did say he would be back and hopeful that Izar would open up to him.

Izar opened his mouth, ready to tell the man off. The last thing he needed was Voldemort to mock and taunt him—to make fun of his weaknesses. The Dark Lord would never understand. But then, with another long look at Voldemort, Izar shut his mouth. He was astonished to see true concern lining the Dark Lord's carefully constructed mask. It was well hidden and Izar wondered if he was only seeing what he wanted to see.

Obviously, he couldn't reprimand the Dark Lord for bringing the topic up again. The man was stepping out of his comfort zone, something Izar had always wanted to see. If he criticized or mocked the Dark Lord for showing this infrequent act of compassion, Izar knew the man would hole up and remain so for an unknown amount of time.

Had there always been compassion? Izar stared at the man, finding himself more confused than before. He had never truly felt comfortable with Voldemort's advances; he had never really believed the man when it came to their relationship. There was always distrust on Izar's behalf because he didn't know if Voldemort was honest when it came to his motives. The man was always so skilled at veiling his true emotions.

If Voldemort really did… love him… well, that changed many things for Izar.

Voldemort swirled the wine lazily in his glass, throwing a pointed look toward the table and porcelain cups Izar had destroyed earlier that morning. "Apparently not so stable…"

"I am," Izar replied, storing the information of his relationship with Voldemort in the back of his mind. The Dark Lord turned to stare incredulity at Izar. "I am," Izar repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. He tapped the toe of his boot on the floor as he continued to lean against the back of the couch. "I came to terms with a few things when I visited Draco. But there is still a great deal that I'm not clear on. That I haven't straightened out yet."

The Dark Lord scoffed lightly, amusement clear on his face. "I apologize for laughing, child. It's just rather predictable on your end."

Izar stiffened, his arms tightening around himself. "You _dare _criticize me when I'm trying to open up to you?"

Voldemort lost his smile and waved a sluggish hand. "Of course not," he denied. "You're just a man of science, that's all."

"Meaning?"

The man across from Izar considered his wine for a moment before gradually looking up at him. "It has taken me a long time to know you from the inside out. While I might have thought I knew you instantly, there are things I was not positive on, such as your emotional stability. Until recently, I imagined you to be a very emotional wizard. But that isn't necessarily the case. While you still form attachments and you protect attachments with a silly vigor, you do not necessarily experience many emotions for a healthy amount of time."

Izar offered the man a look of quiet bemusement.

"Perhaps I should take this in a different direction," Voldemort murmured. "There is a difference between experiencing emotions and hiding them, as opposed to trying to muffle them out completely." The Dark Lord held up his glass of wine and observed it idly. "Everyone must experience emotions, Izar. If they think they are above emotions, they will self-destruct from the inside out—exactly what you're going through as we speak."

"That's such bullshit," Izar growled. "You preached to me that emotions were for the _weak_."

"_Expressing_ emotions are for the weak! Forming attachments with mere puppets are for the weak!" Voldemort hissed. "Obviously I wasn't clear enough the first time, child. You must experience emotions, everyone does. Anger, guilt, _love_…" Voldemort snapped his gaze up to meet Izar's, his crimson eyes smoldering and piercing through the dim room. "Why do you think I decided to refrain from making Horcruxes? A stable and logical wizard needs emotions in order to understand his enemies and himself. That does not mean he has to let others know what he's thinking. In fact, it's best to let others see what he wants them to see. It's entirely in his hands."

Izar sat against the couch, listening and absorbing with a stunned silence.

"You are an emotional wizard, Izar. Emotions come to you quick, but you don't let them take residence inside your mind. You pass them off quickly once you exhausted the reason for their presence." Voldemort paused and assessed Izar closely. "You're a prodigy, a wizard who is all logic and theory. When something makes you feel something over than neutrality, you search relentlessly until you find the root of the problem and discard the emotions after you get your answers. Either that, or you ignore them until you're ready to face them."

"You're wrong…" Izar whispered. "I have morals and—"

"Morals are not the same as feeling emotions." Voldemort turned and placed his glass on the bar. His face was turned, but Izar spied the man's dark smile. "I wager I experience more emotions than you do. The only difference between you and I is that my morals are lacking. And I can hide what I'm feeling from _everyone_, including you."

"You _never_ express your emotions even when they're due," Izar pointed out. "You an emotionless _stone_."

Voldemort offered a guiltless shrug. "There are times I have trouble expressing what I'm feeling when I want to, yes. I find it uncomfortable to do so. But that doesn't mean I don't harbor these feelings toward others, toward _you_."

Izar frowned at the last part, knowing he heard something in Voldemort's tone that he wasn't prepared for.

"There you go again," Voldemort pointed out with unsuppressed glee. "I made you feel something, and yet, you don't understand it. You cannot 'label' it like you can with magical theory or the trinkets you create."

"You are so incredibly wrong about me," Izar whispered.

"Perhaps I am, perhaps I've made a grave error in my observation of you. But tell me this, Izar. Why did it take you so long to accept Lily Potter's sacrifices?" Voldemort waited for Izar to respond. When the young wizard remained silent, Voldemort answered for him. "Because you were unfamiliar with the affection you held for her. You didn't want to _love _her. More than likely, you put off thinking about her for as long as possible, didn't you?"

Izar pushed off from the couch, angrily taking a step toward the Dark Lord. "I _don't_ love her! I didn't even know her!" Izar issued a frustrated moan. "Why does everyone assume I should bawl over her death? Just because I don't feel love for her doesn't mean I don't have feelings. I've come to respect her sacrifices—"

"You're missing the point entirely, child." Voldemort's lips thinned as he watched Izar pace in front of him. "I'm not saying you _don't _experience emotions. I'm saying that you don't let them come to you naturally and you don't accept them until you thoroughly analyze them. You repress these emotions until you have time to study and scrutinize them. Just let them come and embrace them," Voldemort spoke fiercely.

Izar bowed his head. "This sounds… new. It also sounds like it's coming from experience."

"What would you expect?" Voldemort asked in slight amusement. "I've told you before, and I'll say it again. We are much alike. I once treated emotions very similar to yourself. Just recently, I've begun to accept them. You wouldn't believe how much my mind improved in clarity."

Izar stood stiffly as he heard Voldemort inch closer. He allowed the hands to cup his cheeks and lift his face. His eyes blinked close as Voldemort placed his nose near his hairline and inhaled. "Foolish child," Voldemort chastised softly. "I did not tell you this as reproach. I am only trying to help you."

Leaning forward into the Dark Lord, Izar reached up and fisted the man's robes. He pressed his face into the man, feeling remarkably lighter. "Even if it was meant to be criticism, I think I could have handled it," he murmured dryly. "Thank you, for coming back to the base."

He looked up at the Dark Lord, realizing they were being a bit too sentimental. Judging from the man's darkening expression, Voldemort felt the same. They both blinked before quickly separating. Izar moved towards the fireplace and Voldemort poured himself another glass of wine. They could comfort one another and they could both embrace, but never at the same time. It was far too soppy for the both of them, too out of character.

Izar placed both hands on the mantle and grinned into the flames. Though, the good humor dissipated at Voldemort's next words.

"We are not yet finished with this war," Voldemort spoke suddenly. "You must be bored staying here all day."

Placing a hand near the flames, Izar fanned his fingers out. The heat licked his immortal skin, sending unnerved vibes across his body. He had a love hate relationship with fire. It warmed his usually cold-blooded body but it also set his creature on edge. "I'd like to travel before our next phase," Izar admitted. "I haven't been out of Britain with the exception of France for a meager few hours. But I suppose you'd want to hunt down Dumbledore before you feel comfortable enough to move out of Britain."

Silence met his answer.

Izar turned to look at the Dark Lord, spying the dark expression.

"Dumbledore isn't the only one I want to exterminate before we continue our dance of immortality, Izar." Voldemort lowered his eyelids as he gauged Izar's expression. "The Dark Lady of France needs to be taken care of."

The Black heir turned his head back toward the fire, flexing and clenching his fingers together. "You… you think she's still a threat?" His eyes burned with the intensity of the fire. How could someone survive being embraced by a flame as hot as a Veela's fire? Izar almost had her. She was cowardly for running.

"I think she's still a threat, yes. Her followers watched as she was bested by a mere sixteen-year-old. Now, more than ever, she needs to prove herself to her servants. She'll cause problems for Britain, no doubt."

Izar curled his hand and slammed it lightly on the mantle. "But that could take _months_."

"I will not leave you rotting here, child. There are alternate scenarios to consider. We can clear your name and you can make an appearance in the Ministry. Or, we can create a new identity for you. Either way, you need improvement on your politics."

Voldemort could say what he wished, but they both knew that this period was Voldemort's endgame. This was Voldemort's phase; it was the Dark Lord who was basking in his victory of winning Britain. Izar was left behind, still anchored to Britain because it was Voldemort's wish for him to be close and away from Dumbledore or Marjolaine. "I want to leave Britain," Izar confessed suddenly. He turned to look at the Dark Lord. "I want to leave everything behind and start new."

He hadn't thought much about what he wanted in his immortal life. And he most certainly had never considered leaving Britain. But the idea was appealing to him now. It surprised him that he was so set on leaving his life behind, but also a bit eager to see what the rest of the world had to offer.

There was only one thing standing in his way of experiencing the world.

Voldemort.

The Dark Lord viewed Izar as a fledging, as _his _fledging. Voldemort was too possessive and overprotective to allow Izar to fly without guidance. And while Izar wanted to have Voldemort as a constant in his eternal life, he also wanted to make his own decisions. He didn't want to stay in Britain and watch Voldemort put his policies in place. Izar hated politics and he hated being constantly reminded of the life he could have had if he was still human. While he had come to terms with his immortality, Izar didn't want to stay here and watch his classmates grow old.

"We are not finished here," Voldemort whispered silkily, dangerously. His crimson eyes were penetrating as they watched Izar closely. "Whenever we move on, we must tie up loose ends from the phase before it. Dumbledore is a loose end. Marjolaine is a loose end."

"Britain is a loose end," Izar pointed out. "I _hate _politics. I find them boring and pointless—"

"Then you have a lot to learn," Voldemort interrupted sharply. "Politics will be around forever, they are at the heart of every issue. You _must _excel at them in order to thrive."

"And I will," Izar rebutted. "But I have an eternity to learn. I want to leave Britain. I don't care where we go, just as long as I have enough free time to invent, to learn. Teach me politics there."

The Dark Lord looked irritated and his temper was about to unleash from its tightly constrained binds. "Fool," the man breathed. "Patience is a virtue. We will move from Britain as quickly as we are _finished _here. You may even pick our next location, just as long as we finish our _lose ends_," the man stressed heavily.

Izar pushed off from the fireplace and took a defensive stand in the face of Voldemort's temper. "Then why can't you continue here in Britain and I can go elsewhere? I can hunt Marjolaine down from a different angle."

"Out of the question," Voldemort hissed austerely.

The two wizards stood across from each other, both unwilling to look away. It was Voldemort who moved first. He fidgeted with his fingers before lunging forward and slamming a piece of metal on the table in front of Izar. When the man's spidery hand retreated, Izar was left standing in frozen shock. Despite the fire at his back, his body turned suddenly cold at the object gleaming sadistically up at him.

The Gaunt ring sat in the middle of the table, bringing with it sudden memories, sudden emotions he had conveniently suppressed.

"While I am away, perhaps you can keep yourself occupied by creating a fake Horcrux out of a duplicate." Voldemort swept toward the exit, oblivious to Izar's frozen statute. "Tomorrow morning we will hunt after Dumbledore. And that ring will be the bait."

"Should I inform Lucius?" Izar asked numbly.

"There will be no army. Just you and me."

Izar tore his eyes away from the ring and met Voldemort's imploring stare. There was something in those crimson eyes as they watched Izar. There was challenge, a bold determination. Izar pondered on it. Did Voldemort think Izar wouldn't try something behind his back with the Gaunt ring? Did the man truly place that amount of trust in Izar that he knew Izar would want to stay with him for eternity? It would be a sharp betrayal if Izar used Voldemort's trust to do him harm.

And why the sudden test of loyalty? Unless… unless Voldemort saw the only way to hold Izar at his side was to end their phase in Britain as quickly as possible. By hunting Dumbledore, they would be nearly ready to leave Britain and Izar wouldn't have an itching to leave.

The Dark Lord was trying to appease Izar, all the while, testing him.

Izar was just unhappy to know that he would be failing Voldemort's challenge. The ring would be destroyed and there would be no means for Voldemort to resurrect him.

"How will you know he'll come, for only a ring?" Izar inquired emotionlessly.

"Dumbledore has been sniffing after that ring for personal means. He'll come. In fact, he's already picked the location." Voldemort offered him a lipless smile before he left their rooms.

Izar stared at the closed door before looking back at the Gaunt ring. He collapsed to his knees and deliriously laid his torso on the table to get a closer look at the piece of cursed jewelry. It didn't seem like anything special. The aura around it was decent, but nothing Izar couldn't mimic. If he was going to duplicate this ring and fool both Dumbledore and Voldemort, then he could easily do so. There would need to be two duplicates made and Izar would take possession of the real resurrection stone.

His fingers crawled alongside the table before touching the cold metal. Hesitantly, he curled his fingers around the ring and held it up to his face.

Aiden's vision was fresh in his mind. Izar's impending death had not been stopped by Lily's sacrifice. It was now being set in motion. The thought chilled him completely and made him wonder if this was what he wanted.

Izar frowned. Without a doubt, he knew he never wanted to be resurrected. Seeing Draco in the hospital had reinforced that decision but it also shined a light on Voldemort's perspective. Izar had once denied that someone who used resurrection did not love that individual in question. He now realized that wasn't the case. People grew selfish when their loved ones were dying or dead. They would do anything to soften their own grief without taking into account what they would be doing to the loved one in question. People did not mourn the death of their loved ones, they mourned for themselves and their own loss. The dead loved one was in peaceful serenity, what was to mourn about that?

Twisting the Gaunt ring around his fingers, Izar sighed deeply, his chest tight with anticipation and confusion.

Merlin, he didn't want to be resurrected!

His fierce refusal on the matter should be all he needed to continue on with his initial plan of destroying the real Gaunt ring and let death come to him. But, like always, there was one thing making him hesitate. It was always Voldemort. Always. Betraying the Dark Lord and putting the man through a life-long eternity of loneliness made Izar ill. When he had first been reborn as an immortal, the thought frightened him of being alone forever. But there had always been Voldemort there, sharing in his grief and offering solid company.

Though, would Voldemort truly live the rest of his immortality? Or would he kill himself if Izar were to be killed? Either thought didn't settle well with him.

Closing his eyes, Izar clutched the Gaunt ring. It had taken him nearly two years to figure it out, but he finally understood his hesitation; the reason behind not wanting to cause Voldemort pain. The man was a constant bastard, his arrogance was overwhelming, and he was constantly in control of Izar. There were times when Izar could barely tolerate the man's presence. But then again, Voldemort was also the only individual that knew Izar from the inside out. Voldemort was the one to make Izar feel _alive_. Izar couldn't act like his true self with anyone but Voldemort. There were constant mind games and bickering and Izar enjoyed every minute of it.

And just today, Izar spied the true foundation for their relationship. There was true compassion between them. While it was buried down deep and rarely showed, it _was _there. Voldemort had proven as much when he had come to the base and opened up to him.

It was because of the man's earlier words of advice that Izar realized it was perfectly alright for him to admit that he… loved Voldemort. There. He admitted it to himself. He loved the Dark Lord and that was exactly what was holding Izar back from duplicating the Gaunt ring.

Voldemort, the bloody bastard and _fluffy_ ponce, knew Izar would come to this realization. That was the challenge in the man's eyes earlier. Voldemort knew Izar would realize his devotion to him and refrain from duplicating the Gaunt ring.

Izar opened his eyes and contemplated the ring sitting innocently in his open palm. When he stripped away every emotion, every distraction, Izar understood that this was still a game between Voldemort and him.

And he would be _damned _if he let the Dark Lord win.

"I'm not that easily played, Tom," Izar tsked. "Though, preaching about accepting emotions _was _a decent strategy. I hate to admit." Even if what Voldemort had instructed Izar about earlier _was _truthful, the Dark Lord had played it to his advantage before giving Izar the ring.

Doubtless of him understanding the Dark Lord's motives, Izar was still faced with a predicament.

He stood up from the floor, seeing double from the sudden movement. Eyes narrowing, Izar suddenly stopped short. With all these recent revelations and weight-lifting experiences, Izar's mind was abnormally clear. It felt like eternity since his head was clear of distractions and overbearing conflicts. There had been a dry spell when Izar had been weighed down by depression and a lack of intelligent insight. But it was back and his functioning prodigy mind was welcomed back with open arms.

Izar curled the ring in his fist and smiled wickedly across the room. A plan formed rapidly in his mind and he eliminated the unnecessary or faulty aspects and replaced it just as quickly with other alternatives.

It could work.

Oh _yes_… it could work.

And then there was also the small possibility of it failing miserably and he would lose both ways. It could go wrong and Izar could end up as a newborn in Voldemort's arms. Or worse… But Izar knew it would work because this was what _he _wanted. This was _his _decisions. He was finally doing something he believed was in his own best interests, no matter who it may hurt in the process.

It would be a long procedure and he didn't have much time. Perhaps he could contact a few trusted members for assistance? Regulus, Severus, perhaps Lucius. They didn't need to know the specifics, but they would be guided and strung along by his hand.

Izar hunched his shoulders and a shaky smile spread across his lips. Soon, his quiet chuckles turned loud and ecstatic with a hint of insanity.

**{Death of Today}**

Izar sat lazily in the chair, exhausted from the night's long and tedious deeds. Nonetheless, he still had an hour or two to spare and he decided pay Riddle a visit. He could feel the man's aura approaching the office where Izar sat. It hadn't been too difficult to find his way inside. And judging from the man's hesitation from outside the office, Izar knew the man hadn't expected to see him until that morning.

"Applying for the position of secretary?" Tom Riddle inquired lazily as he entered his office and shut the door behind him.

Izar smirked while he continued to face away from the man at his back. "I heard you were accepting applications." Izar slowly stood from his chair and approached the Minister of Britain. He couldn't help the silly grin on his face as he curled his hands into the man's shirt and tugged him forward. He brushed his lips scarcely across Riddle's face but not applying enough pressure to properly kiss him. "Fuck me," Izar purred.

Riddle, or rather Voldemort, reared his head back and narrowed his eyes distrustfully on Izar's face. There was sharp suspicion and deep thought coming from the man as Voldemort weighed Izar's words and actions. Let the man ponder on Izar's motives, the man would come up blank.

Izar let his smugness shine through on his expression. Voldemort growled and cupped Izar's face, attacking his mouth with heated vigor. With his hands still attached to Izar, Voldemort backed them up until Izar was pushed down on the desk.

"Someday, we'll have to find a mattress," Izar breathed into the kiss.

Voldemort silenced him with a tongue in his mouth. They both channeled their desperation and bitterness into their exchange as they understood that there would be a death of today and a beginning of something unknown tomorrow.

* * *

**{Notes} NO THE STORY IS NOT FINISHED YET!**

"Death of Today" is not only an Evanescence lyric but also the whole point to this story. It's a transition. It's the death/end of something familiar. Using those exact words 'death of today' was actually just a last minute decision (desert for a reviewer actually). Corny, perhaps, but it was tempting me too much to refuse it.

Also, as we come to an end, I should probably let you know there may be unanswered questions. Obviously, I'll strive to tie loose ends together in neat little bows, but this story has taken me almost 2 years to write with a hiatus or two thrown in the mix. There is destined to be a plot hole or two.


	70. Part II Chapter 38

_**Notes: **__Thanks to those of you who reviewed and read. Last chapter and this chapter were two very difficult (but fun) chapters to write. A lot of emotions were put into them and I thank those of you who are still with me ;) Also, thanks to __Verschollen and BloodDemonica __for the wonderful fanart. _

_**Warnings: GRAMMAR MISTAKES! **__Among others, like… *cough*_

**Chapter Thirty Eight**

It felt like they were on a honeymoon, venturing out into the wilderness and taking a romantic hike through grassy hills. Izar kept his hands in his pockets, sullen as he followed behind Voldemort like a faithful servant. Their hike was anything _but _romantic. There was an impending air about and it set both wizards on edge. Though, neither would address it.

"Little Hangleton," Izar mused as he finally spoke to the man ahead of him. They were approaching the top of the hill where it overlooked the small town. "Why this location? What's its significance?" Voldemort paused in his trek, turning to survey Izar from over his shoulder. Both of them were dressed in appropriate Muggle wardrobes, a hint to Izar that they weren't anywhere that welcomed wizards with open arms.

"This town was the home to my Muggle father and my estranged mother and her family," Voldemort replied coolly before continuing up the hill.

_Ah, _that would explain the man's closed-off attitude. Merlin… it seemed like forever ago, but Izar remembered when he had first encountered Bellatrix Lestrange. His aunt had cruelly and sadistically pointed out Izar's heritage. Only a child at the time, Izar had run and hid in a small alcove, trying to cope with being an unwanted child. Voldemort had found him and had reassured him that he, himself, was a bastard and that he had killed his Muggle father.

It was one of the very few things Izar knew of Voldemort's childhood. With already so many similarities, it didn't surprise Izar that his and Voldemort's childhood paralleled one another. They were both Half-blood, had dysfunctional parents, and a life-long torment of being raised in an orphanage…

"And Dumbledore knew this was where your father was?"

"My mother and her father, the Gaunts," Voldemort corrected stiffly, as if he wanted to be anywhere but their current location. "Tom Riddle lived a mile or so from the Gaunts. We will be going to the shack the Gaunts once lived. Dumbledore will most likely believe I will come here to hide my last remaining 'Horcrux'."

It was apparent that Voldemort was upset coming here and Izar didn't even have to look at the man's unsettled aura to see that. The Dark Lord never talked about his family, his mother, his childhood… Izar would have taken it as an insult if he didn't already understand what it was like to have a troubled background. He knew Voldemort and he knew the man was ashamed of his bloodline.

"Why did you bring me with you?" Izar inquired innocently.

"You are my lover," the Dark Lord said simply. "If anyone should accompany me, it would be you."

"Touching," Izar quipped quietly, well aware the man can hear anyway. "But your passionate confessions don't correlate well with your actions. I don't know a thing about your past."

Voldemort stopped short, turning around and pointing a finger at Izar's face. "You know more than anyone, with the exception of the Albus Dumbledore. And look where that knowledge is taking him. He's using it against me."

Izar offered the man a calm and unabashed expression. "Do you honestly think so low of me that I would use your past against you? I thought you knew me better, _Tom_." Izar calmly walked past the Dark Lord. "At any rate, with the amount of dirt you have on my childhood, you could most likely destroy me from the inside out." He stopped, throwing a raised eyebrow and the sullen and brooding man. "I suppose that's what we're destined to be, though. We aim to destroy each other."

Voldemort lunged forward, grasping Izar around the shoulders and peering closely. "My mother was a good-for-nothing woman who was prisoner to an obsessive love with a handsome Muggle. She was abused at home by her brother and father. She was incredibly unattractive and had little to no magical abilities… with the exception of love potions." Crimson eyes stared unblinkingly at Izar. "It wasn't until after I hunted after my uncle and father that I realized she put my father under the bindings of a love potion and conceived me. When her guilt grew to such lengths, she released Tom Riddle from the potion. When he found out what she was, he abandoned her when she was swollen with child."

The Dark Lord exhaled through his nose and released Izar's shoulders. Standing tall, the man looked over Izar's head. "She then proceeded to sell off valuable heirlooms before giving birth to me. Her falsified love for Tom Riddle outweighed her love for me. She died soon after giving birth."

Izar watched from lowered lashes as Voldemort continued his trek up the hill. The man's bitterness toward his mother and father was tangible, but his disgust for his mother was overwhelming. Izar would have thought that Voldemort would have directed all his hate toward Tom Riddle. "Your mother," Izar started, catching Voldemort's eye. "You don't give her much credit, do you?"

Voldemort said nothing as they stood motionless, facing one another in the fierce and bitter winds. Izar's unruly waves flitted across his eyes but he did nothing to push them away.

"She must have been something remarkable, to create a son like you." Izar pressed his lips together, well aware it sounded horribly clichéd.

"Child," the man crooned, a smug smirk to his face. "I am a Dark Lord, a cruel—"

"Perhaps, that's what they see," Izar interrupted. "But I know the real you." It had taken Izar countless of interactions with the Dark Lord to see that the wizard wasn't an untouchable god. Underneath it all, Voldemort was just as human as everyone else. The man had his fears, his weaknesses, and his faults. Voldemort was afraid of death, he grew too defenseless during torture, and at times, the man was just too predictable. But above all else, Voldemort wanted to be just as wanted and loved as everyone else—only in a different way. He wanted a life partner for eternity, hence the reason Voldemort made it possible to obtain a mate.

Izar knew, without a doubt, that no one could ever be as good as a mate to Voldemort than himself. He knew how to keep Voldemort happy, he enjoyed the more sadistic side of their relationship, and he was strong enough to handle it.

For a moment, Izar admired the motionless Dark Lord before continuing forward. "At any rate, I think Tom Riddle had _some _sort of connection with your mother."

"You mean love?" Voldemort inquired at Izar's back. "The man was a proud and arrogant bastard. He only loved himself."

"He sounds remarkably like another man I know," Izar teased lightly before sobering. "He must have been able to hide his emotions. In their days, it was improper for a well-bred male to court or look fondly upon a lowly female. And with her family and her _magic_, I would think Tom Riddle was just frightened."

"Enlighten me with the reason you would think he harbored any positive emotions for her."

Izar pressed his hands into his pant pockets. The child who was conceived in the act of coercion rather than true love would never be able to love himself. Love potions were damaging not only to the individual ingesting them, but also the child conceived from it. It was a good example of _Light _Magic being just as destructive as Dark Magic.

Glancing at the man at his side, Izar thought Voldemort _was _capable of love. Perhaps being conceived under the influence of a love potion made Voldemort the sadistic Dark Lord that he was. But Izar would like to think Voldemort was capable of experiencing the powerful, yet destructive emotion of love. "I have my assumptions," Izar responded casually. "But I'm not going to share them in case I'm wrong."

Voldemort offered a lipless smile. "That is not like you, child. I thought you were never wrong."

"I'm not," Izar reassured smoothly. "I said _in case _I'm wrong. That is not the same thing as _being_ wrong." He looked at the top of the hill, noticing they were edging closer. The trees were thick and Izar got a cold sensation looking at the forest. "Getting back to your mother, I think she was awfully strong for surviving that long with her abusive father and brother. And for her magic, you and I both know that undesirable living accommodations can muffle one's magic. She may have been as strong as you are. Don't be so disgusted with your parentage, My Lord, until you know the actual facts and not just the opinionated judgments."

A hand curled around the back of Izar's neck. "Why are you so insistent that I view my mother and father in good graces?" Voldemort whispered in Izar's ear with great interest.

Izar turned, their lips just barely brushing. The wind played with their hair, entwining the dark strands and forcing them to dance and twist around together. Izar smiled impishly. "Because your shame and disgust of your origins is anchoring you in a place that could destroy you," he said in all honesty. "Not all of us can have a father, an uncle, and a Dark Lord to help us accept our dark past." Izar reached out and placed the tips of his fingers against Voldemort's sharp cheekbone. "I only hope my warning to you is as well received as the help I attained was."

Voldemort stared. There was no other word to describe it. It was if the man had completely shut down.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord took hold of Izar's hand, removing it from his face and pressing his lips against the fingers. "Were would I be without you, love?"

Izar frowned, guilt tearing at him. But why should he feel guilt? For the decision he made? He had no reason to feel guilty. "Do you really want me to answer that?" Izar breathed, making light on the situation.

The Dark Lord pressed Izar's hand into his mouth and nose, inhaling. His eyes fluttered closed just briefly before he dropped Izar's hand and straightened. "Come, let's get this over with."

Izar slowly followed the Dark Lord. Before he could dwell too long on the current situation, Voldemort spoke up once again.

"Don't ever let your enemies know what you desire," Voldemort preached as they reached the thick trees. "It's easy for them to control you and your actions. Just look at Dumbledore. He's so hell-bent in obtaining the Resurrection Stone that he will willingly walk into a trap. Foolish man."

Izar absorbed the words carefully, all the while, uncertain what was about to transpire. Were they to wait until Dumbledore showed up? Or would Voldemort just place the fake Horcrux near the Gaunt residence and leave? Izar figured it would be the former. After all, if Dumbledore wanted the Resurrection Stone for a purpose, the old man would realize that the ring he was holding was _not _the actual ring.

"Why does he want the Resurrection Stone so badly?" Izar knew Dumbledore thought the Gaunt ring was Voldemort's last remaining Horcrux. Dumbledore assumed, by destroying the Gaunt ring, that he would destroy Voldemort once and for all. But would Dumbledore's desire for the ring outweigh his determination to put an end to the Dark Lord Voldemort?

Crimson eyes looked at Izar fondly. "That, child, is a story for another time."

Izar didn't press the topic, realizing that they were now entering the woods. The disconcertment from earlier was back with a greater force. Ghosts from times past were still lingering here, unhappy with their past lives and destined to haunt the area until they settled the impossible task of finding peace. Izar kept his hands in his pockets, feeling almost ill. The air was thick and humid despite the winter season. If he were human, he would have found it difficult to breathe.

When they finally stumbled across a structure, Izar didn't find comfort in the sight of it. Somehow, the cottage, or rather, the shack, blended in with the rest of the trees. Vines, moss, and dirt caked the small residence, making it appear more like an abandoned tree house and less like a house that was once occupied.

It was also the same shack that Izar remembered seeing in Aiden's vision. And the trees surrounding it were just as familiar.

Izar smiled bitterly, bowing his head.

"Stand guard," Voldemort ordered sharply as cautiously approached the shack with his wand drawn.

Izar stood motionless even when his whole body wanted to follow Voldemort like a frightened child would follow his parents. Green and charcoal eyes watched the Dark Lord. The man said he wanted Izar to stand guard but the Black heir knew the Dark Lord didn't want him inside the house. Voldemort truly thought Dumbledore was inside already and he was doing his duty of protecting Izar by entering first.

Nonetheless, Izar kept his senses open and ready. He couldn't sense Dumbledore's aura or hear anything beside the occasional animal skittering across the forest floor. If Izar could stop Dumbledore before the man attacked, perhaps he could avoid this _whole _situation.

Just as Voldemort entered the shack, Izar slowly pulled his wand out, prepared to cast more detection spells around the area. Only, his slow and cautious speed was probably his undoing.

"_Punctum Virusi." _

Dumbledore had come out of nowhere. The man's aura was absent, bringing no attention to his whereabouts other than the fact that he struck Izar from behind. The sudden spell hit Izar in the back of his head, piercing through his head and puncturing something… something of vital importance. For a long second, Izar stood clueless, unable to understand why Dumbledore would want to cast a spell on him meant to kill serpents.

And then it suddenly hit him. He was part Basilisk. He had venom sacs located somewhere in the back of his head, near his jaw. His head felt numb, painless, but he knew the back of his head must be blown away from Dumbledore's curse.

It was the only thought he could reasonably comprehend before the punctured venom sacs leaked toxic venom through his system, traveling places where it didn't belong and destroying his already damaged brain. Across from him, Voldemort slithered from the shack, staring at him in shock. Izar offered the man a child-like smile before his body suddenly turned hot, a second curse from Dumbledore setting his body aflame from the inside out.

**{Death of Today}**

The child…

It was only seconds that Voldemort stood motionless, but it felt like hours that he remained standing like a fool. Izar might have been able to survive if Voldemort would have _moved _after the first curse was cast, doubtless that the child's mind would have never been the same. Venom traveled through their system, it was just as natural to them as blood was to humans. Only, the venom behind their throat glands carried a far more toxic venom than the rest of their body.

While Voldemort and Izar could exchange bites with one another, it did not put them in any danger. The venom released from their bites was in small quantities. Having their venom sacs completely punctured would kill them.

Izar's mind would have been severely damaged, reverting to a child-like state or perhaps a vegetable. But Voldemort could have worked with it; he could have stopped the rest of the venom from flushing the boy's system and he could have sealed the punctured sacs. But Dumbledore was quicker. Somehow, Dumbledore was always quicker. And when it came to Izar's safety, Voldemort found he could never protect the boy properly enough. Why was it that the only thing he wanted to excel at, he failed?

Voldemort bellowed, throwing out his hand and reaching toward Izar. His magic pulled at the dying boy, hoping to move him as far away from the invisible Dumbledore as possible. Only, as soon as Voldemort wrapped his magic around Izar, the boy's Adonis features twisted into vulnerable fear before his body exploded into a cloud of ash from the inferno burning inside him.

He could have avoided the cloud of ash or he could have shielded himself from the approaching remnants, he did neither. He stood stiffly, allowing the ashes of his lover to cascade across his body and settle in the creases of his clothes and the strands of his hair.

At his sides, his fingers clenched tightly and trembled uncontrollably. A potent and alien emotion clogged his pores but he didn't let it settle. Instead, he used his anger and stepped further into the foggy environment.

Eyes burning, Voldemort slashed his arms backward, igniting an Anti-Apparation ward around the perimeter of the woods. Flames roared to life where the Anti-Apparation ward settled. The vegetation around the perimeter began to catch fire and spread to its neighbors. Voldemort walked confidently into the center, lifting his hands in mock expectance.

"You once claimed that Izar was more dangerous than me because he could control my actions as well as his own," Voldemort whispered into the cloudy forest. "That was true; he did control me to a certain degree. Only, by killing Izar, you haven't gotten rid of the threat. You have created a monster in the wake of his death!" Voldemort hissed lethally.

"You cannot love, Tom. It is entirely too late for you, my dear boy. You would have gotten rid of the boy as soon as you grew bored."

Voldemort gave a breathless chuckle. "By pretending you know all of life's secrets, you have only condemned this world to an eternity of hell. If I cannot have what I want, I will no longer play fair. By taking away Izar, you have not taken a step toward the _greater good_, you have destroyed what little morality I have left." His crimson eyes finally locked on the man standing across from him. A dark smile formed on his face as he pointed a tapered finger in the old fool's direction. "And after today, you will no longer be here to stand before me as protection to the rest of the world."

Dumbledore cocked his head to the side, a sad glint in those pitiful blue eyes. "If I had spared Izar, he would have either continued your legacy or he would have resurrected you." Dumbledore shook his head. "I should have known you would have twisted the poor boy's mind to the point of mindless servitude. To know he would sacrifice his humanity for you at the tender age of sixteen!"

Voldemort's eye twitched and his fingers danced toward his wand. He didn't want to hear the old fool speak about Izar when he knew nothing at all.

"When I heard the boy was a creature, I had thought you had him turned into a vampire. It would suit you. To tarnish a boy of Izar's intelligence and good humor and turn him into a mindless vampire. But no, the boy showed a remarkable sense of control when I dueled him." Dumbledore surveyed Voldemort strangely. "Knowing you, you were experimenting with new ways to become immortal. After all, you must be feeling desperate now that all of your Horcruxes has been destroyed but _one_. It dawned on me that you were using Izar as a lab rat to further your own supremacy. And what better creature to experiment on than a serpent?"

His black bangs, dotted with Izar's remains, drifted into his eyes as he stared dully at Dumbledore. "You enjoy the sound of your own voice," the Dark Lord murmured quietly, rage rising further to the surface. What would the man say if he knew Voldemort had tested his means of immortality on himself first before he even injected his venom into Izar?

To think that Voldemort thought so little of Izar…

"Tom—"

With reflexes only matched by his late lover, Voldemort grabbed his wand and willed his power toward the old man. In many ways, he could relate to Izar when it came to his enemies. Like Izar, Voldemort enjoyed playing with them. He also held a grudging respect for Dumbledore for being the only one powerful enough to challenge him—challenge him magically. When it came to the battle of the mind, Izar was the only one who had entertained Voldemort.

It was a combination of his trivial respect and his boredom that made him tolerate Dumbledore all these years. But the aging wizard had committed an unforgivable act and Voldemort could no longer allow the delusional man to live.

Dumbledore quickly dodged Voldemort's magic, throwing his own curse back at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort seethed, understanding that they were on the same level in terms of power. His unstable patience could not handle a drawn-out battle, no matter how appealing that idea may be.

Curling his wrists, Voldemort magically knotted the trees together. The branches groaned loudly as they interlocked above the two wizards, enforcing the Anti-Apparation wards and making a make-shift cage that would lock both himself and Dumbledore inside until one of them died. Voldemort allowed a dangerous smile to spread across his lips as he reached out a closed fist toward Dumbledore.

"Is this what you came here for?" Voldemort asked in a breathless whisper. His fingers uncurled, revealing the duplicated Gaunt ring Izar turned into a Horcrux. He drank in Dumbledore's expression, finding it amusing that the old man couldn't even hide his longing efficaciously. "Dead loved ones, back from the grave…"

"And also your Horcrux," Dumbledore responded grimly.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows, offering a mocking expression of wonder. "Is that what you see this ring as? My last remaining Horcrux?" Voldemort tsked. "I _think _you see this as means to get your sister back. Isn't that right, Albus?" Voldemort studied the man intensely. "I wonder… would you use it to keep your sister with you? Or would you do your duty and destroy it, getting rid of both of us in the process?"

And just as he predicted, Dumbledore attacked. Voldemort was thrown backwards, toward the Gaunt shack, and the Resurrection ring flew in the opposite direction. Voldemort curled his body around in midair, planting his hands into the ground and anchoring himself against Dumbledore's spell. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he bowed his torso forward and tugged at the Gaunt ring. The piece of jewelry fell in the middle of the two wizards, exhausted from the overuse of magic in its proximity.

Crimson and blue eyes dueled. Every ounce of respect Voldemort once held for the old man had turned sour. All he could see when he looked at the man was Izar's shadow…

Dumbledore thrust his wand out, twisting his elbow in order to get a clear shot of Voldemort. The Dark Lord threw his arms in front of his body, blocking the onslaught of magic. With a vicious growl, Voldemort rotated the magic around and threw it back at his enemy. The old fool took a startled step backward, able to deflect most of the magic but failing to cover his left side. Dumbledore grunted as his arm was ripped backward from his socket, making an audible _crack _across the caged-in area.

Voldemort rocked to his heels, realizing that his heightened rage and loss was fueling his attacks. But he didn't want to kill Dumbledore magically. No. He wanted it to be a _hands-on _experience for the both of them. He wanted blood. He needed a just vengeance.

Before Voldemort could continue offensively, Dumbledore took an aggressive move forward and sent a wall of magic in his direction. The spell stretched from one end of the perimeter to the other, making it impossible to dodge or side-step. Even when Voldemort stood yards away from the oncoming barricade, he could feel the scalding heat omitting from the crimson curse.

Voldemort scrambled backward, using Dumbledore's curse as means to put his strategy in motion. Cloaking himself in protective magic, Voldemort braced his forearms against the wall of burning heat. While he was able to resist getting consumed by the curse, he wasn't able to prevent himself from being pushed backward. His feet made trails in the ground as he was forcibly pulled away from Dumbledore and the Gaunt ring.

As soon as he was within distance of the Gaunt shack, he entered the open door and crouched down, placing his arms over his head and reinforcing the protective barrier around himself. Seconds later, as soon as Dumbledore's curse made contact with the small cottage, the whole structure trembled violently before exploding. Voldemort seethed in the middle of the explosion, watching as the house his ancestors lived in crumbled and destroyed within seconds.

There was something… oddly bittersweet about watching the destruction from beneath a shield. Was it liberating? Yes, he believed it was. It was liberating to see a house full of past ghosts and past memories so easily destroyed. None of the memories this house held were worth living on for eternity. It was meant to be destroyed. And Voldemort felt almost _lighter _when the roof cascaded down on him, showering him with sandy debris that misted past his barrier.

As he remained crouched within the settled rubble, he thought back to Izar's words to him just moments ago. His shame for Tom Riddle's past was anchoring him somewhere where it was easy for his enemies to destroy him. It was time to accept his origins for what they were. He may never look fondly upon his mother or father, but Voldemort came to respect how his past shaped him.

Izar…

What would the child say if he knew Voldemort had taken his words into consideration? A cocky smirk would likely cross the boy's flawless features and a cheeky comment would pass those perfectly sculptured lips.

Instead, there was silence.

Crimson eyes sharpened as he stood from the remains of the Gaunt cottage. Slowly, he turned, staring at Dumbledore's turned shoulder. The old fool clutched the Gaunt ring, turning it around in his palm. Even from Voldemort's position, he could see a shocked frown cross the man's features.

Making certain the Anti-Apparation wards were still intact, Voldemort dropped the glamour around his body, revealing his creature attributes to anyone who cared to look his way. With measured steps he approached Dumbledore, clenching and unclenching his claws. He could almost _taste _the old man's shock as he continued to roll the Gaunt ring in his palm.

"Be patient," Voldemort whispered silkily. "You will be with your sister shortly."

Dumbledore turned, his eyes widening only a fraction when he spied Voldemort's appearance. "It was a misconception from the beginning," Dumbledore breathed. "There were no Horcruxes." Dumbledore's shoulders hunched forward just slightly. "Izar's idea, I presume? What a brilliant mind he was…"

Voldemort appeared at Dumbledore's shoulder without the older man tracking his movements. "And what a predictable mind _you _have, Albus. Your interminable sorrow over your sister's death led you here by the throat."

Blue eyes surveyed him sadly. "You'll eat your words, Tom. Even though you hide it well, I assume, now that you've experienced grief and overwhelming sorrow, you'll understand the lengths one would go to reconnect with their loved ones. Soon, you may just find yourself in my position—willing to enter a trap just to get a glimpse of Izar once again." Dumbledore stared down at the fake Gaunt ring with resigned acceptance. "Now that I know you haven't created Horcruxes, I understand that you do have emotions, albeit faint. Izar is the only one you have ever come to love. And because of that, I know you will not heed my warning. You will not be willing to let him rest in peace, and because of that, it just may be your downfall."

Voldemort reached forward, placing his sharp claw against Dumbledore's exposed throat. The old man did nothing to defend himself. "I have enough intelligence to bring him back without entering in _any _trap."

Dumbledore smiled grimly, as if amused with Voldemort's answer. With renowned courage, Dumbledore lifted his chin, staring Voldemort in the eye. "It must be eating at you, Tom. The way he died." Albus took a deep intake of air, refusing to defend himself against the sharp claw at his throat. "It is rather surprising that you couldn't protect him well enough. But then again, your protection is only absolute when you're protecting yourself."

Voldemort issued a moan in both furry and loss as he plunged all his claws into the man's neck. Warm blood cascaded down his arms as he held up Dumbledore's struggling form. The Gaunt ring Izar created dropped from Dumbledore's slack fingers and landed at their feet.

Only when Dumbledore's body turned limp did Voldemort allow himself to weep.

**{Death of Today}**

His steps were heavy and rigid as he approached the living quarters he had avoided for over four days.

Four days.

For four days, Tom Riddle worked constantly at the Ministry, never once allowing his mind to drift. And yet, the child was always in the back of his mind, taunting him, reminding him that he wouldn't be at the base when Riddle got a chance to pull away from the office. There would be _no _Izar to remind him that an eternity wasn't boring, wasn't so desolate.

Voldemort thumped his palms into the door, slamming it open in the process. He stood in the doorway, staring at the empty and grim living room. Cold crimson eyes swept across the kitchen where the table was still lying on the ground with porcelain cups scattered around it. The deafening silence stung his ears.

His robes rustled as he moved from the doorway and into the living room. Behind him, the door slammed shut, warding off any unwelcome visitors, mainly invading blondes. The first real hurdle after Izar's death had been the face of Lucius Malfoy. It was only natural for a wizard to sense the death of someone he owed a life-debt to. Just days after Lucius' name was cleared at the Ministry, the blond had stormed into Riddle's office and had passionately demanded to know what happened to Izar.

After dispassionately explaining to the blond that Izar had been killed by Dumbledore, Voldemort received a cold stare from Lucius. The blond cursed him for being so calm, so unaffected by Izar's passing. Tom Riddle did nothing but watch Lucius as the man spat at his feet before turning to leave.

If they hadn't been at the Ministry, Voldemort would have used Lucius Malfoy's blood for decoration in his new office.

There was a reason why Voldemort had been so expressionless. It was because he knew he could bring Izar back. There would be ways… he needed patience and a level head to accomplish such a feat. And he also needed _time. _Preferably uninterrupted time. Which is why he had worked over four days at the Ministry, getting things in line for the public to hear of the policies being put in place. Hogwarts was being reconstructed and the public would learn that the Dark Arts would be taught at the school.

That, among other things, is what Riddle had worked on in order to take a leave of absence. He requested to be contacted only in a case of an emergency. The public would have their policies and Britain would be strong once again.

He wouldn't bring Izar back in the middle of another war. No, things had to be done correctly.

Lucius, the fool, couldn't see reason. What did the blond expect Voldemort to do? Curl besides Izar's remains at the Gaunt shack and mourn? It was not possible, simply because Voldemort had no reason to mourn when Izar would be beside him once again.

And yet… the air which settled around him was dense and thick, reminding him of the morning he and Izar had walked through Little Hangleton. There was something amiss and he was missing a large piece of the puzzle.

Voldemort stared down at the broken porcelain before walking into the nearby bedroom where the real Gaunt ring was located. His steps were measured and slow. His eyes were unmoving. He told himself it was the real Gaunt ring, simply because he needed it to be. But his confidence wasn't nearly as strong as it should be as he reached for the small box.

As he curled his fingers around the ring box, he sat himself on a chair and contemplated it. He had all but admitted his true feelings for Izar the night before Little Hangleton. And he was certain Izar could decipher his own feelings that night. Voldemort wagered that if he was able convince the child that he did, indeed, hold the boy in such a strong light, Izar would realize that an eternity with him would not be such a burden. He thought—no—he _believed _that Izar would think twice about being resurrected. It was a simple game he played with the child. And it was the only reason Voldemort had risked so much by giving Izar the real Gaunt ring. He had opened himself up to Izar completely and made himself vulnerable.

Certainly, if Izar felt just as strongly about Voldemort as he did for Izar, the boy would not betray him in such a way and destroy the Gaunt ring.

White fingers curled around the box and opened it. The onyx ring sat inside, glittering up at Voldemort. There was the familiar air around it and the scratches on the metal band were just as he remembered. But then again, Izar was known for being able to mold magic in any way he desired.

Forcing himself to remain composed, Voldemort took the ring from the box and held it in his palm.

His eyelids fluttered closed and he conjured up a picture of Izar in his mind. It wasn't easy to forget the boy's Adonis features, the seemingly innocent and harmless face but the sharp and piercing eyes that told another story.

_One_

The boy and his quick wit, his cheeky remarks, and sarcasm. The unmistakable charm that seemed to enthrall everyone he encountered. The remarkable _grace _the boy carried.

_Two_

The way Izar liked to pretend he didn't enjoy soft and loving caresses, the way he laughed and made light of situations at the most inappropriate times, the way he rose up to any challenge and never gave up, the way he made Voldemort feel completely out of control…

Everything, he thought of it all.

_Three_

Voldemort snapped open his eyes, expecting the emptiness that greeted him. Though, he hadn't expected to feel the sharp sting of betrayal. Izar had made two duplicate rings. Izar had destroyed the Gaunt ring, readily abandoning Voldemort to an eternity of isolation. After all, how could someone chose an eternity with him when they could escape a life-long torture by resting in the hands of death?

It was for just a minute that Voldemort lost complete control. His face morphed into an expression of potent sorrow and he gave a roar of desperation. With one hand, he clutched his face, refusing to show any ghosts his unshed tears. His opposite hand became lax, allowing the fake Gaunt ring to slip from his fingers and roll across the floor. This… this raw emotion was difficult to experience. He had never believed he would fall to such depths. He had looked down on Izar for gracelessly mourning his uncle's death, but how could he preach to the boy about not showing emotions when he was no better?

Voldemort's fingers tore at his face before he hissed angrily. He lifted his chin away from his hand and seethed at the far wall. His sorrow and the sense of betrayal slowly burned away to cold anger.

He had given the boy too much leverage—too much trust. He had mistakenly believed _love _was enough to keep the boy at his side.

"The challenge has just begun, child," Voldemort vowed to the empty room. "Don't get too arrogant. The Resurrection Stone was just a preferred method of bringing you back. It is not the _only _method."

The chair he was sitting on was knocked backwards as soon as he stood. His eyes were fixated on the nightstand Izar used as his own. With a predatory glide, Voldemort approached the nightstand and grabbed the photograph lying on top of a hand-written letter. He remembered seeing it a few nights ago. It had been enclosed with the letter Lily Potter sent her son.

Completely disregarding the letter, Voldemort studied the photograph, finding his attention absorbed on the small baby in the picture. Izar Black was nestled in his mother's arms, completely oblivious to what he would become and who he would gain the attention of. Tracing a fingernail over the small baby, Voldemort smiled gleefully as an idea began to take foundation.

Surely, bringing back a lost soul would be easier to accomplish if it was just a fetus. A grown body would be more difficult, certainly. Izar would have to be brought back to this life as a newborn. Granted, the memories wouldn't accompany the newborn right away. It would take maturing of the child before he regained the memories of his past life. But Voldemort could only _imagine _the possibilities of raising Izar himself.

Coolly, he reminded himself that details on Izar's upbringing would be for later assessment.

What he needed now was deoxyribonucleic acid from Izar, Regulus Black, and Lily Potter. It would only work if he had the DNA; otherwise, it would take him years to find an alternative. Already, he knew he would need months, if not more, to draft a successful potion that would resurrect Izar. He knew he would also need a female strong enough to ingest the potion and carry Izar. Obviously, the female who carried Izar would have no effect on the boy's fetus. Izar would be a replica of his past self. His parents would be the same, his appearance, his memories…

It would be extremely difficult, complex, and above all else, Dark. However, he viewed it as a challenge between himself and Izar. He could not allow the boy to win this round. Izar may have more intelligence than Voldemort, but above all else, Voldemort had never been this determined before.

He rolled his neck in an act of alleviation before folding the photo and placing it in his robe pocket. With confident steps, he escaped the bedroom and into the living room. Subconsciously, he pressed his wand to his left forearm and called Lucius.

There were many things he needed to get in order. There would need to be experiments done before the potion could be safely administered to the female in question. Though, there were an endless amount of females he could pick from if one did not survive the process. And after analyzing and pinpointing what ingredients he needed, he then had to test the ingredients for their purity and potency and gauge what would work for him. It was an endless task, and while Voldemort detested the thought, he knew he would need assistance.

Lucius would assist him by collecting the DNA. Rookwood, also, would be a tolerable candidate. Having two different set of eyes would be a resourceful move. Despite Lucius' dislike for him at present time, Voldemort was well aware he held all of the blonde's strings in his hands. The man was a smart, yet submissive puppet.

Voldemort sat at the desk, pressing his fingers against the parchment to smooth it. The first thing was to research the human body and the properties of the deoxyribonucleic acid. What little understanding he had on the topic was elementary. He would need to intensify his knowledge if he ever wanted a proper start on selecting the necessary ingredients for the potion.

If he could cheat death by creating a trihybrid creature, he could resurrect a lost soul from the grave and nurture it through a fetus. There were already processes that were able to bring someone back from the dead, but they were faulty in that the subject in question either lost their memories or were completely unstable. If Voldemort was going to do this, he wanted Izar returned just as he was. After all, he wanted the child competent enough to understand that Voldemort was the victor in their dance.

A _tap _at the window stilled Voldemort's line of thinking. Crimson eyes narrowed as he flicked his wrist, allowing the tawny owl entrance. The Ministry seal was enough to set Voldemort's teeth on edge. He took the post from the owl, ignoring the bird as it quickly fled the room without waiting for a reply.

_Minister Riddle,_

_You have requested I contact you only in case of an emergency. We firmly believe you need rest from your endless hard work, but this is a matter that needs to be handled by you alone. _

_A healing Hogwarts and the village of Hogsmeade were attacked this evening. As much as I would like to reassure you that it was a group of Dumbledore's men, I regret to inform you that it was the French. It does not appear as if the Dark Lady is willing to back off her attacks on Britain now that there is a new Minister and no longer an active Dark Lord. _

_The public is waiting for reassurances that there won't be a new war. The Board is also eager to work with you on this new threat. _

_Regards,  
Undersecretary Swenson _

Slapping the letter down, Voldemort stared sinisterly at the far wall. Marjolaine. The woman was an attention-seeker and also the last one who held the power to claim that Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort was the same person. It was unlikely the public would believe her, but she was a hazard that needed to be destroyed. To think that she had the idiocy to step foot on Britain soil and challenge _him_!

Her refusal to back down in this war couldn't have come at a more inconvenient time. He was just rebuilding Britain and obtaining the public's trust and respect. And he was also focused on Izar.

The sudden knock at the door pulled Voldemort's attention back to the present. Composing himself, he opened the door wandlessly, watching through lowered lids as Lucius Malfoy stepped inside. The blonde's shoulders were rigid as the man approached him.

"My Lord." Lucius went to his knees.

His long blond hair fell across his shoulders, suddenly reminding Voldemort of the time Izar confessed he had a '_thing' _for blondes. Of course, it was said to get a rise out of him. The memory brought with it another round of anger and determination. "I need you to collect something for me," Voldemort whispered softly, eyeing the man's hair in distaste. He didn't see anything remarkably special about blondes. "Go to the Potter household and collect anything you can find that would contain DNA from Lily Potter."

Lucius' head shot up. It was clear from looking at the man that the blond hadn't slept. Humans. They were so easily damaged. And yet, Lucius' eyes weren't lethargic and distant, they were wide in horror.

As quickly as the shock came, the blond was able to hide it well, swallowing thickly. Voldemort narrowed his gaze. It was something to watch, which is why he was having Rookwood do the same task as Lucius. It was due time to test the blonde's loyalty.

"Do you… plan on resurrecting him…My Lord?"

Voldemort stood from his position at the desk, refusing to allow Lucius to rise from his kneeling position. "I don't think that is any of your business, Lucius. Your usefulness is beginning to deplete, as is my tolerance for your existence." Voldemort reached out and grabbed Lucius' jaw none too gently. "The only reason you are alive is because Izar wished it to be so. If I had half a sense, you would have been dead the moment you laid hands on him."

"I understand, My Lord," Lucius breathed, his brows creasing. "It is my unconditional hope that you can succeed—"

"I _will _succeed in resurrecting him," Voldemort spat, throwing Lucius' jaw away in disgust. "Do not think so lowly of me."

"Forgive me, Master." Lucius kept his head bowed. "My thoughts are not clear since the death of Izar and my son's continued condition. But I will do as you ask. Am I to go to Regulus Black's home and do the same?"

Voldemort surveyed Lucius closely. "Does Black know of his son's passing? Who else knows? I am certain you most likely told as many willing ears as you could find." It made no difference who knew. Izar would be returned as a baby, it was best if 'Izar Black' was erased from existence. In all actuality, this was a perfect ending to their first phase of immortality.

The tips of Lucius' ears turned red but the blond remained stoned-face. "Regulus and Severus know, yes. As does my wife and… Daphne Greengrass." Grey eyes shot up to Voldemort. Both of them knew Greengrass would be the one to spread the word around more than necessary.

Really, he was surprised Regulus Black hadn't come tearing down his door. The man had always wanted to be a part of his son's life and had always taken Izar's safety personally.

The Dark Lord swept past him and moved a few papers around on his desk. For a long moment, he let the blond stay kneeling in silence. "You will find me Lily Potter's and Regulus Black's DNA. After which, I want you to fetch me Bellatrix. She is not responding to the Mark." Crimson eyes glanced at the sullen form. "I will most likely be in my office when you are completed. You are dismissed."

Through narrowed eyes, he watched as Lucius escaped the room. There was something amiss with the blond. Voldemort would get to the bottom of it.

After…

His eyes fell on the letter from his Undersecretary. Lucius would come _after_ he addressed the press that Marjolaine was no threat.

**{Death of Today}**

_Dear Tom Riddle,_

_Or should I say, Lord Voldemort? Doubtless of your current façade, I have a proposition for the both of you. _

_Britain has currently been experiencing the brute of our strength the past few days. These attacks will not continue as is, they will only intensify. Recently, my army has gone through a renovation. While we are stronger, we do not hold all the power I had hoped to obtain. You see, despite the French Ministry being labeled as the most diplomatic government in the world, it is far from the truth. We do not hold a democracy here. Instead, it is a well-crafted monarchy. Here in the Wizarding community, the people do not have the freedom Britain has so rightfully claimed for themselves. _

_It has taken me years to build a trusted army. But even I am not delusional. The government here is resilient, unbinding, and growing stronger every day. Which is why I write to you. I must ask for your alliance. _

_Our partnership will benefit the both of us. Please, let me explain. _

_For Tom Riddle, if you lend a hand, the attacks will stop on your soil and your reputation will no longer tarnish. The Britain public has already experienced one incompetent Minister; they will no doubt have more confidence this time around to kick you out of office if you do not hold to their standards. The last thing Britain wants is another war. I am more than prepared to challenge you. Your spies within my ranks have been killed and I am confident that you are at a disadvantage. You wouldn't know how to trace my whereabouts. And if you were to attack France, I am not a Minister like yourself. Your attacks will be an insult to France, not me personally. _

_Second, if Tom Riddle were to cooperate, Britain would be gaining a strong supporter. Once I have infiltrated the Ministry, we will make a treaty together. Britain and France would be unstoppable and both our citizens will feel safer from any future threat. _

_And of course, there is also Lord Voldemort I have to appease. For him, it is far more rewarding. I am not interested in immortality. Recently, I have obtained a small blood-red stone that goes by the name of the Philosopher's Stone. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold, but most importantly, it is also produces the Elixir of Life which grants immortality to the drinker. I have just been informed that your boy has passed on to the other side. This Stone could be means to bring him back, yes? The Stone is also believed to amplify the user's knowledge of alchemy, so much that anything is attainable. _

_I will leave you to ponder the benefits of such a Stone. _

_If you decide such an alliance is worth your while, then owl me. The only request I have of you is that you come alone. You're more than welcome to bring your army with you, so long as they stay out of sight. The negotiation is between you and I. _

_Regards, _

_Lady Marjolaine_

Tom Riddle tossed the letter aside. Crossing his fingers together, he pressed his chin on top his folded hands and contemplated the recent turn of events. He had a vague understanding that the French weren't what they boasted to be. Their Ministry was horribly corrupt and Marjolaine wanted to infiltrate the powerhouse.

His first reaction was to burn the letter. Fool woman that she was. She was also Izar's sworn enemy. Working with her was out of the question, there was no doubt about it. However, there were… _possibilities _of turning this alliance around for his own benefit. And the Philosopher's Stone was extremely tempting to him. It would increase his knowledge of alchemy. He could return Izar quicker than he thought possible.

There was also the option of assisting her until they succeeded in tearing down the French government. Only then could Voldemort turn on her and take France as his own. Surely Izar would enjoy France. The boy had once commented on the beauty of France's Wizarding community and their unique and breathtaking architecture that wasn't found in Britain.

If he ignored her letter entirely, he knew she would keep her promise and continue attacking Britain. Already, the public was growing forgetful of the terror that was 'Lord Voldemort' and were crying foul over Hogwarts teaching Dark Arts to the students. Humans were never adaptable to change. And they were rather forgetful. Perhaps it was time for Lord Voldemort to make another appearance. If the Dark Lady began attacking Britain, Tom Riddle would become another Rufus Scrimgeour.

He closed his eyes.

Why was scheming suddenly so tedious? Why was he no longer experiencing a burning thrill?

"I need you," Riddle confessed softly to the quiet office. "Even if you betrayed me."

He flicked the letter further away from him. There were ways to return Izar without the Stone. And Britain could use another wake up call. He couldn't care a less about the public or the lives that would be lost. Marjolaine was already weak. Voldemort was certain he could take down her and her army once they stepped foot in Britain. This 'alliance' was for her benefit, not his.

Tapping came from the other side of the door. Riddle adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "Enter."

Lucius Malfoy entered his office, appearing prim and proper. He had a thick cloak around his shoulders and his hair was tied tightly to the nape of his neck. Although his appearance was put together, Riddle was quick to notice the sickly pallor on the man's face and the tension around the lips.

With a gesture to sit from Riddle, Lucius settled gracefully on the chair opposite of his desk. "Minister," Lucius whispered silkily, yet, there was a shaky tremor in the man's voice. "I am here to come clean with you."

Riddle pressed his hand into his cheek and observed Lucius jadedly.

"Izar…" Lucius swallowed thickly, raising his eyebrows in order to control his expression. "Came to me the night before he died."

Silence met his statement. Riddle could say nothing, could do nothing when he felt a dark sensation settle. His gaze turned dangerous as he watched Lucius struggle for the right words.

"To clear up any misconceptions, I want Izar resurrected as much as you do. I will do anything possible to obtain that. With that being said, I have to confess that I have made a grave error." Lucius pressed his lips together. "That night, six days ago, he came to me and asked me this… unusual favor. If I had _any _idea what he was planning, I would have refused. I would—"

"What did he ask you?" Riddle interrupted threateningly.

Lucius' eyes dropped to his cupped hands. "He asked me to destroy every trace of Lily Potter at James Potter's household. I… Potter was out of town that night and I got rid of every piece of her that I summoned. In short, he asked me to make certain that her DNA was eradicated." Lucius breathed deeply. "When you gave me the order to collect her DNA, I suddenly realized why Izar had asked me. I searched desperately for anything I missed at the Potter household, but I knew it was impossible. So I went to every place I remembered seeing Lily Potter, like the Department of Mysteries. When I cast a summoning charm, nothing came to me."

Riddle remained motionless, staring blankly at Lucius.

"I assume that Izar had more than one person destroying DNA, Minister," Lucius continued gently. "Because I… couldn't find Regulus' DNA either. In fact, Regulus and Severus are no longer in Britain. They disappeared and so did his DNA. I even looked at Hogwarts for Black's DNA and couldn't find _anything_." The blond blinked at Riddle's blank expression. "Izar must have foreseen this, he must have wanted it this way. He covered his tracks expertly…"

"Bellatrix," Riddle barked out.

Lucius bowed his head, clutching his gloved hands together. "She's dead. The Black tapestry at Grimmauld Place declares her dead."

Riddle stood up abruptly, throwing his arm out and causing Lucius to jump. "Get _out_."

Malfoy stood up just as quickly. With a bow, the blond turned his heel and exited the office.

Wandlessly casting silencing charm across his office, Riddle gave a hoarse roar and slammed his hands down on his desk. "_Fuck_," he breathed viciously. "Even from the grave you're playing your games!" Crimson eyes burned fiercely from behind his glasses. "You're laughing at me, aren't you?"

He straightened suddenly, staring at his desk. Somehow Izar had the ability to pull everything off the night before they went to Little Hangleton. He even had time to stop by Riddle's office for sex. And Voldemort remembered specifically that Izar's seed had stained the desk he was currently leaning against. Afterward, the boy had cleaned himself and the office. At the time, Voldemort hadn't thought anything of it.

Even when they were laying together, Izar was deceiving him.

Hissing continuously, Voldemort bowed his head and braced himself against the desk. There was no DNA. He knew Rookwood would report to him with the same results. He had sent the man out before Malfoy and Rookwood was most likely still looking for any traces of DNA. But there wouldn't be any for him to collect.

Without DNA…

For a fleeting second, and for the first time of his existence, Voldemort contemplated suicide.

_No! _

He would come out on top. Izar hadn't won just yet.

Ever since this had all started, Voldemort had known Izar had seen his own death and he knew the boy saw the Gaunt ring as means of resurrection. But these recent turn of events made Voldemort realize that Izar had seen further than that. The boy must have seen Voldemort's plan of resurrecting the boy through means of Bellatrix and a fetus. The child had thwarted Voldemort's every step!

If he wasn't in such a mood, he would congratulate the boy on a job well done.

Instead, he grabbed Marjolaine's letter and dipped his quill in ink.

* * *

Next chapter will most likely be uploaded tomorrow or the day after. Which also happens to be the last chapter. *Throws confetti*


	71. Part II Chapter 39

_**Final**__** Chapter. **_

**Chapter Thirty Nine**

Voldemort's bone-like fingers clutched his cloak against his frame, bracing against the abnormally strong winds that howled and tugged playfully at his robes. The hood covering his features shuddered against the fierce elements, debating whether to sneak further upon his head or give into the winds and reveal him. Voldemort refused to give it a choice as he clutched his cloak near his throat, keeping the hood firmly in place.

He tipped his neck back, observing the small manor he had been instructed to arrive at. His current location was a minor Wizarding community in France. There were no important landmarks near the town and the population was few. Small shops lined the stone-paved street and were parallel to the small manor Voldemort currently stood in front of. It appeared more like a church than anything else with its tall arches and stained-glass windows.

Red eyes narrowed as he climbed the stairs to the entrance. He couldn't sense any Anti-Apparation wards around the structure. The manor also looked too small to house a significant number of wizards. Marjolaine was most likely still wounded from her earlier encounter with Izar. Or, perhaps she was just recovering. No matter what her physical status was, Voldemort believed she wouldn't go far without her followers nearby.

In contrast, Voldemort had opted to keep his Death Eaters in Britain. He didn't want his servants to catch wind of his negotiations with Marjolaine unless it worked out accordingly. He had half the mind to kill her and obtain the Philosopher's Stone for himself. It was all he wanted from her. Though, if it didn't work out his way, he was more than prepared to use her to gain possession of France himself.

And if this was a trap set to kill him?

If that were the case, Voldemort would be prepared to defend himself. He had an emergency Portkey in his cloak in case he had to flee like a coward.

In many ways, he felt like Dumbledore as he took hold of the door knocker and knocked thrice. The man's words came back to him, taunting him. Voldemort had boasted to Dumbledore that he was too intelligent to willingly walk into a trap. Though, at the time, what he hadn't comprehended was that he had a prodigy as a lover, a prodigy who would do anything in his power to remain at rest and thwart every last move Voldemort made to resurrect him.

Before he could knock again, the large door opened. A young blond man stood on the other side and assessed Voldemort coldly. "_Puis-je vous aider_?"

The Dark Lord understood French easily, yet he refused to speak it. "I am here for Marjolaine."

The blonde's lips twitched upward and his eyes gleamed. "Yes, come in," he invited in broken English.

Voldemort stepped into the ridiculously grand manor. The ceilings were painted and there was gold molding pressed near the ceiling and above the floor. The floors themselves were a deep-colored wood and the rugs were richly sewn. Yet, no matter how luxurious the manor appeared, Voldemort began to feel disquieted as he was led toward the back of the house and toward a set of narrow staircases.

They encountered little if any wizards on their way up the stairs. The only wizards and witches present were dressed in white and grey robes, their eyes cautious and distrustful as they watched Voldemort follow the blond upstairs. Voldemort ignored them easily, but kept himself aware of each and every movement they made. Distinctively, he thought back to the attack on Hogwarts. He was certain he remembered Marjolaine's forces as being clothed in dark green.

What game was she playing? She had mentioned in her letter that she had revamped her army; did the new color scheme fit into such renovation?

Such silliness…

No matter her intentions with her army, Voldemort found his apprehension heightening the further they ventured up the stairs. The walls were becoming narrow and the grand luxury disappeared. Instead of polished wood floors and marble stairs, rickety wood took its place. The temperature dropped many degrees and the atmosphere darkened considerably. They must have been nearing the top floor of the manor when Voldemort's guide suddenly stopped.

_You'll understand the lengths one would go to reconnect with their loved ones… _

The blond motioned toward the last flight of stairs. "Up there," he instructed, but otherwise remained motionless.

_Soon, you may just find yourself in my position—willing to enter a trap just to get a glimpse of Izar once again…_

Voldemort eyed the French guide suspiciously before he leisurely made his way up the narrow steps. Damned Dumbledore, damned _Izar_. He was doing exactly what Dumbledore had advised him _not _to do, but when had he ever listened to the old fool? He needed the Stone. He was more powerful than she was. Certainly there wasn't a trap set up for him on the top of the stairs.

Nonetheless, his ears frantically searched for anything that would alert him to what waited from him on the top level. He felt the cool breeze coming from what appeared to be an open balcony and his ears picked up the sound of a rustling cloak.

But most importantly… the _smell… _

Voldemort wavered on the staircase for a split-second before hurriedly taking the last step upward. He braced his hands on the unsteady railing, knowing that this had to be a trap if the smell was anything to go by. At the moment, he suddenly realized that he could accept his death. Dumbledore was right. He was willing to continue walking this path of his demise as long as he could _inhale _that scent one last time.

He planted his feet at the very edge of the stairs, staring incredulity at the figure standing confidently on the balcony. It wasn't a vengeful Marjolaine who was waiting for him, no. A young and lithe male was bracing his arms against the railing of the balcony, looking out at the cityscape with his back facing Voldemort. The boy was dressed in white, a beautiful and startling contrast to his dark, curly hair.

The boy had already sensed Voldemort's presence, yet he remained facing away. As if to tease a little longer.

"You know," the young man began. "I find myself a bit disappointed at how easy it was to lure you here, yet at the same time, smug." There, in the young man's hand, was the blood-red Philosopher's Stone. Slowly, the young wizard turned around. "What did you once say to me?" Mockingly, the boy tapped the blood-red stone against his chin. "Ah, yes. Don't ever let your enemies know what you desire, because it's easy for them to control you and your actions."

"_Izar_."

**{Death of Today}**

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?"

Lucius blinked from his deep stupor and sluggishly turned his torso around to face the newcomer who entered Draco's hospital room. The stranger was a man with slicked-back auburn hair and a set of thick-framed glasses. Despite the thick spectacles, the man had aristocratic features and an air of overwhelming importance about him. He didn't look familiar and the heavy French accent made Lucius even more suspicious to this man's identity.

"Yes?" Narcissa was the first to stand. Her hand rested on Draco's bedside as she turned to face the stranger fully. Subconsciously, she pressed her opposite hand to her blond locks, desperately trying to recover her flawless composure.

Lucius remained sitting. He found little to no point in using his charm. Nowadays, his depression took hold of his regal grace. With Izar…

With Draco's continued condition, Lucius and Narcissa had begun planning when they should take Draco off his life support. It was a heavy decision and they both struggled with the consequences. Neither of them was too eager to walk back into society as if nothing had transpired.

"I'm sorry to intrude without a proper notice of my arrival," the man continued. "I'm Healer Lefevre, from the France Medical Institute."

Narcissa gasped sharply and Lucius sat up suddenly. Originating in France, Healer Lefevre specialized in burn victims. Lucius and Narcissa had tried to book the wizard as soon as they learned the extent of Draco's condition. The French Healer was renowned across Europe for treating victims who were severely damaged by fire. And more often than not, Lefevre's patients recovered fully and were able to function as well as they did before their accidents.

Unfortunately, Lefevre had declined the Malfoy's plea, for he was working on another patient in France. No matter how much gold they offered the Healer, Lefevre's answer remained the same.

Narcissa and Lucius shook hands with the middle-aged wizard, both still in quiet shock.

"If you still need me, I'd like to work with Draco." Lefevre looked over his glasses at the bandaged boy. "If he's held on this long, I believe he has the strength to make a recovery. However, I cannot make a guarantee that he will survive the treatments I put him through. It is a chance you must be willing to make."

"I believe my husband and I are willing to make that sacrifice," Narcissa spoke for the both of them with a hand to her throat. "Forgive me for being forward, Healer Lefevre, but I thought you were tending to a patient in France?"

The man offered her a thin smile that appeared more rapacious than comforting. "I'm afraid my patient, Lady Marjolaine, has… passed on more than a week ago. The cause of her death was not related to my treatment, so you need not worry." The Healer paused, looking directly at Lucius. "Lord Black sends his regards to you, Mr. Malfoy."

For the first time since hearing of Draco's condition, Narcissa began to cry. She must have been overwhelmed with relief and could no longer keep her emotions properly in check. Throughout Draco's continued fight for survival, Narcissa had sat beside him, refusing to allow her grief to come through just in case Draco was aware of his surroundings. Now that a miracle has arrived, Narcissa's resolve crumbled.

Lucius fell clumsily into his chair, pressing a hand to his face as he slowly connected the dots. A shaky smile spread across his face and he chuckled merrily. He believed he would have to visit France as soon as possible. There was a wizard taking residence there who Lucius owed his entire life to.

"_Izar_," Lucius breathed in reverence.

**{Death of Today}**

"_Izar._"

Voldemort's call possessed such raw emotion, Izar pondered if it was really the Dark Lord who whispered his name.

He stared at Voldemort with just as much intensity as the other man, basking in the familiar sight of the wizard. It had only been a few days more than a week since he had seen Voldemort. And yet, it felt like years. As much as he would love to admire the sight of a dazed Lord Voldemort, Izar had to remind himself that everything that had transpired up until now was for a specific reason.

Snapping his feet together in an offensive stance, he reached out his arm, conjuring up flames that licked the skin on his hand. "You should be rightfully dead," Izar whispered straightforwardly. The fire jumped from his fingertips and curled lazily around Voldemort's feet. It wasn't meant to harm, only startle. Yet Voldemort only continued to stare at Izar, paying no attention to the fire around his shoes.

"I have an undetected Anti-Apparation ward charmed around this manor; you most likely couldn't sense it." Izar smiled thinly. "I also imagined you would bring an emergency Portkey with you. I'm afraid that it won't work in this room. And knowing you, you didn't bring your army for backup. If I were Marjolaine, you would be six feet under by now."

Voldemort's lips creased into a dark smile.

"I hope you know how ridiculous you look," Izar continued, peeved. He had planned this encounter for many days, and this certainly wasn't how he imagined Voldemort would act. The Dark Lord was just _standing _there, staring. "You have just…" he trailed off when Voldemort merely stepped over the flames and approached him. "You've just entered in the same trap you arranged for Dumbledore…"

Izar dropped his arm as Voldemort closed in on him. The passion coming from those crimson eyes almost made Izar dissolve. "Damnit, Tom," Izar growled. "Don't try to take away my triumph of finally being the one to reprimand _you_—" he trailed off as Voldemort cupped his face.

"And you're doing a job well done. I feel deeply ashamed." Voldemort's tone suggested he was anything _but _ashamed.

Izar grasped what little composure he could find when his anger started to get the better of him. In the past, whenever Izar lost to Voldemort, he had vowed revenge and raved. Now that Izar was the one to win a round, a _large_ round, mind, Voldemort was acting as if _he _had won the game. There was no ire coming from the Dark Lord. Only visible complacency.

Before either of them could continue their altercation, Voldemort spun quickly, throwing his arm out in irritation. Izar watched in disapproval as Moreau, his blond follower, charged up the stairs at the Dark Lord. The French wizard had his wand out, ready to attack Voldemort for touching Izar so informally. Obviously Voldemort didn't find the wizard worth his time, for he forcibly threw Moreau into a wall. The blond landed awkwardly, no longer conscious but still alive.

Despite Izar hearing the heartbeat of the French wizard, he knew Moreau would need medical attention. But at the moment, it was Voldemort who demanded Izar's undivided attention.

"Another blond doting on you?" Voldemort inquired cruelly.

Izar crossed his arms firmly, eyeing the Dark Lord critically. There was more to the man's explosive actions, and it wasn't just from another male taking a liking to Izar. No, Voldemort was… slighted? Slighted that he actually lost a vital challenge.

Izar grew more confident when he finally saw the real Voldemort, the same Voldemort he had been prepared to face today. "I believe, despite your relief that I'm alive, you _are _angry that I made an efficacious move in our next phase of immortality without your help. Don't get your knickers in a twist because you're a sore loser."

"Sore loser?" Voldemort demanded sharply, turning an eye on Izar.

"Sore loser," Izar mocked, caressing the Stone with the pad of his thumb. "Just admit it, love. You lost _unbearably_ in this game between you and me." Izar cocked his head to this side. "Admit it," he repeated again with more force. "I _won_."

Voldemort stood a few feet away from Izar, a stubborn line to his lips. "I will not admit anything until you tell me exactly what you did." His eyes traced over Izar's features, his mind too quick and too intelligent to miss the features that were out of place. "Your hair is lighter and your lips and eyes are pale." Eyes narrowed. "There are cracks around your face."

Izar ran a vain hand through his hair, peeking conceitedly at Dark Lord. "My features will go back to normal within a few days."

A skeletal finger rose and pointed accusingly at Izar. "You created a Doppelganger that night. You are only now recovering from it." Voldemort squared his shoulders. "You foolish _idiot. _How close were you to dying?"

It didn't surprise Izar that Voldemort was smart enough to notice the signs of a Doppelganger. In fact, he would have been disappointed if the man hadn't figured it out. "I didn't have much time to create it," Izar began lowly. "I had to ask Severus and Regulus for assistance. Three sets of hands are more efficient than one. However, because we didn't have very long to spend on the Doppelganger, I knew I was taking a risk. As soon as I went into the trance, I didn't awaken until Severus forcibly pulled me back to reality."

There were two types of Doppelgangers. The most common and easiest to construct was the Doppelganger that was a direct copy of the caster. If Izar were to create the common Doppelganger, there would be two Izar's walking around Britain. The Izar Doppelganger would have the same mannerisms as the real Izar, but they wouldn't have a direct connection. It was more challenging to control and interact with.

Which is why Izar created the darker and more complex version of the Doppelganger. The Doppelganger he conjured was also a physical duplicate of him. However, in order for the Doppelganger to function, the real Izar had to be put into a magical trance in order to transfer a part of himself into the Doppelganger. It was an odd experience. He felt as if he had been locked inside a stranger's body despite the fact that the Doppelganger was an exact replica of himself.

He was not physically with Voldemort that day in Little Hangelton, but he was with him mentally and emotionally. The process was also similar to a Horcrux, only, when the Doppelganger was destroyed, the other half of Izar would merge back with him.

Having a piece of him inside the Doppelganger was the only way he could have the Dark Lord _feel _his death. And Lucius, with his life-debt, would also sense Izar's passing.

"After getting rid of the necessary DNA, I left for France with Severus, Regulus, Aiden… and Bellatrix." Izar smirked. "It was easy to manipulate the Black Tapestry. Lucius would, of course, see that Bellatrix was 'dead'. I knew that you would have used her as your lab rat when trying ways to resurrect me, so I brought her with us."

Speaking of Bellatrix, Izar knew he should probably send Severus out to find her at his earliest convenience. She was most likely wreaking havoc across France. She had been left in the dark when it came to Izar's true intentions. Despite her loyalty to Izar, she had an even stronger loyalty to the Dark Lord. Izar only told her that they were playing a game with the Dark Lord. She had been suspicious, but satisfied when Izar reassured her that Voldemort would be coming to France.

"When we arrived in France, I was put into the trance and transported to the Doppelganger back in Britain. Because Dumbledore's attack had been so sudden, I was left in… limbo for a time." Izar lifted his face into the wind that blew from the open balcony. "Despite our physical bodies being dead, our souls still live inside us. It was frightening to be floating in nothingness," he confessed softly. He hoped, beyond hope, that death was not similar to the limbo he experienced. "I couldn't feel anything, I couldn't think, I couldn't see, I didn't have an identity…" he trailed off hoarsely, shivering. "If it hadn't been for Severus, I would have been left there."

A lukewarm hand pressed to his check, bringing him back from his stupor.

"If you knew the consequences of creating a Doppelganger, then why did you go through with the process?" Voldemort queried, his body sheltering Izar from the open window.

Izar offered the man a dry smile. "You knew, almost as soon as it happened, that I received a vision from Aiden. I saw myself being resurrected. Aiden told me that I couldn't avoid it. At the time, I wanted to ignore his warning and scheme ways to get around it. Eventually, at the last moment, I finally realized that if I tried to prevent myself from being returned from the dead, it would only prolong the process and make it even more painful for me to return."

He hesitated, studying Voldemort's closed off expression. The Dark Lord's hand pressed itself against Izar's cheek before it dropped to the man's side.

"Regulus had also told me about another vision Aiden had. Apparently Marjolaine would have killed you if I would have fought the resurrection. So, I was faced with two decisions. I could either get rid of the DNA and Gaunt ring and let you walk into Marjolaine's trap, or I could leave you the Gaunt ring and DNA and allow you to resurrect me."

"But you did neither," Voldemort pointed out unnecessarily.

"Yes," Izar conceded. "Though, truth be told, I formed this plan before I heard of Aiden's second vision. Hearing about it only enforced my decision to create a Doppelganger."

A sly smirk crossed the man's lips. They both knew _why_ Izar had decided to think harder on a solution to the problem.

Turning away from the other wizard, Izar stared dully at the cityscape beyond Voldemort's shoulder. "I want you to understand that I didn't create a Doppelganger because I was afraid of death, Tom." His pale eyes locked with searching crimson. "If anything, this whole situation has made me accept death more than I thought possible."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows mockingly. "I do not fear death. You will not convince me with your immature wisdom."

"You don't fear death?" Izar gave a laugh and walked away from the Dark Lord. "Please don't insult me, Tom." The Black heir sneered at the far wall. "I'm not telling you this as a lesson; I'm telling you this to be brutally honest with you." Izar pointed a finger at the Dark Lord. "I chose to create a Doppelganger because I knew, no matter what happened, I would _never _be the same if I were resurrected. I wondered why Aiden showed me the vision in the first place and I realized it was because I could have never accepted you again if you went against my wishes by bringing me back to life. He wanted me to come up with an alternative plan.

"I also recognized that he showed me the vision in order to make me understand your way of showing affection."

The Dark Lord glowered menacingly. Before he could make an offensive retort, Izar continued.

"We both love each other, let's stop dancing around that issue, shall we?" Izar turned, facing the Dark Lord fully. His voice rose fervently as he made certain Voldemort was paying attention and wasn't lost in his own mind. "While I created the Doppelganger to avoid being resurrected and to prevent you from being killed by Marjolaine, above all else, I created it because I didn't want to curse you to an eternity of loneliness. I _wanted _to spend more time with you. Risking a chance of falling into limbo just to be with you was a sacrifice I was willing to make."

Voldemort clutched his cloak in his fist and began advancing closer to Izar. "It is not like you to confess such emotion," Voldemort crooned. A black eyebrow arched. "What you are trying to get at?"

Izar shook his head, knowing that it was impossible to confess anything without the Dark Lord looking for an ulterior motive. And yet, the man was right to be suspicious. "I risked my sanity for you because I cared for you. It's what people do when they care deeply about someone, which is why I want you to promise me that you will never try to resurrect me if I were to truly die. Because it's something I would expect you to respect."

Voldemort stopped short, dropping the side of his cloak and letting the black material pool around his feet. His eyelids were lowered and he stared despondently at Izar. "This whole… _situation _was just a game, child. Why must you make it a life-learned lesson? There should be no moral of the story. You won this round. That is all there is to it." The man's raven hair toppled to the side as he peered sideways at Izar. "Boast if you'd like."

"You're not taking me seriously." Izar clenched the stone in his hand, a treasure he had received after killing Marjolaine. "You never do."

"Now you just sound like a spoilt child."

Izar hissed. "When will you see that I am my own person? I am not a replica of you. I am not someone you can make decisions for." Was it even worth arguing with the Dark Lord? The man would always be overbearing. But Izar realized he didn't care about that. He just wanted Voldemort to promise one thing. "I sacrificed a great deal for you and did a lot of things _you _wanted. You turned me into an immortal sixteen-year-old—"

"This again?" Voldemort sneered. "We've already discussed this."

"Perhaps," Izar grinned cruelly. "But I've been thinking about this for a long time. There were other ways to save me from Cygnus. He claimed Legilimency wouldn't work, but you were a _master _at Legilimency, you were a _Lord_. You also told me that you didn't want a human mate on the battlefield. For some reason, you wanted to turn me at a young age. And I think it was because you wanted a permanent advantage over me."

Voldemort sniffed, looking away from Izar and smiling strangely at the ceiling. "You think so lowly of me, child." But he didn't deny it.

He stared at Voldemort's turned face. "Promise me," Izar tried again, this time, in a gentler tone. It wouldn't do to exert force against Voldemort when the man would rise to the challenge and bring his own dominance into the game.

"I _can't _promise you something like that." Remarkably, Voldemort didn't sound irritated, only… disconcerted. "Put yourself in my position—"

"I have, My Lord. And I understand why you think that way." Izar placed the stone in his pocket and reached for the Dark Lord. He curled his hands into Voldemort's robes, causing the older wizard to snap his attention down on him. "But this is my decision and I have a right to have a say when it concerns _my _life. I promise to stay by your side until we _both _agree to end our games. If it doesn't last that long, I want you to leave me to rest."

Voldemort stared at him long and hard before leaning forward and placing his forehead against Izar's. His fingertips danced up Izar's neck before taking residence on his face. Wordlessly, the man nodded.

Izar's eyes only widened a fraction. He had believed it would have taken Voldemort longer to agree with Izar's wishes. After all, the man wasn't known to agree to anything if it was against his own desires. And while the Dark Lord hadn't gone out of his way to reassure Izar that he wouldn't consider resurrecting him, Izar knew the man was candid.

These past few days had been good for the both of them. Izar had really grasped what Voldemort meant to him and the way they complemented each other. There was no one else who could keep Izar as entertained as Voldemort could. Regulus had subtly hinted that Izar could take advantage of Voldemort being oblivious of his survival and move on without him. Obviously Izar had turned down his father's advice. The man had no _idea _what Voldemort and Izar were together.

And it wasn't just Izar who needed this, he could also see a visible change in the Dark Lord.

While they would never be romantic with one another, they had obtained the confidence their relationship needed in order to move forward.

And move forward they would.

"After creating your Doppelganger, you came to France to kill the Dark Lady," Voldemort hinted, keeping himself pressed against Izar. A crooked smile graced the man's features. "Tell me how you managed that when you were so weak."

"Weak?" Izar admonished before grinning. "I was nothing compared to how Marjolaine was fairing. Back in Britain, when you told me she had to prove herself to her followers after her duel with me, I realized that there may be a chance that her supporters would accept me if I were to knock her off her pedestal. Even though they remembered me, they weren't too keen to let me get too close to her. It was a bit messy…" Izar confessed, grimacing when he thought back to it.

Voldemort gave a deep hum and pushed off from Izar. His steps were confident as they walked toward the unconscious Moreau. The disdain the Dark Lord felt toward the blond was obvious from the sneer planted firmly on his lips. He toed the blond with his boot. "It appears it wasn't _too_ messy. You have a faithful blond to replace Lucius."

Izar scoffed loudly. "_No one _could ever replace Lucius." He continued quickly when he noticed Voldemort's aura darken. "But you're correct. When I was able to get to Marjolaine, I used my magic-sensitivity to close off her magic. She died quickly. The very few who wouldn't accept me in her stead rushed at me and I had to use my magic-sensitivity on them also. After which, the majority of her followers were scared silly that I could take their magic away." Izar snickered lowly before sobering.

He hadn't been proud of his decision to use his magic-sensitivity on the followers. While he was for an equal fight, he had also been weak. And he needed something that would set himself apart from any other wizard. The French wouldn't accept him if he was a simple wizard who got lucky with Marjolaine.

Voldemort snapped his head to the side, gazing at Izar with barely hidden surprise. "I never pegged you as a Lord who ruled by fear."

"It had to be done. I'm only now starting to get to know everyone and gaining their trust." Izar tossed Voldemort a sly expression. "There is nothing wrong with installing a bit of fear in them. They can't get too comfortable and think of me as one of their comrades."

The Dark Lord suddenly moved away from Moreau and began to circle Izar like an eager child. There was a predatory gleam in the man's eyes as he watched Izar from the shadows. "And you were the one to attack Britain and send me that letter," the man purred. "You, child, had already started our second game while still executing your first scheme. I really _must_ applaud you."

Izar kept still, refusing to spin like a mindless puppet but never really keeping himself open and vulnerable to the circling man.

"Yet," Voldemort continued with a breathless whisper. "You are not ready for this."

Rolling his neck up at the ceiling, Izar remained silent. He wouldn't argue with Voldemort's observation, simply because he agreed with the man himself. He hadn't _planned _on taking Marjolaine's position as the Lord of France. His hunger at challenging Voldemort and starting something by himself drove Izar's decision to take Marjolaine's mantle. His decision had only strengthened when Moreau and a few other followers informed Izar that Marjolaine hadn't been the most dedicated Lady. She hid behind too many people and was too concerned with her own interests to really bestow herself to their cause.

The Ministry was corrupt and Marjolaine's followers had wanted a change in the government.

The first thing Izar was going to do differently from Marjolaine was accept _both _Light and Dark followers into his army. It would certainly cause a clash between the old followers and the new followers he inducted. But the Ministry in France was overwhelmingly strong. Marjolaine had strong ties with the Ministry; it had been her only smart move Izar could see. However, now that she was dead, those ties were most likely severed. Izar needed a strong army to keep his ground against the Ministry and that meant he needed wizards from both ends of the spectrum.

"You're right," Izar admitted airily.

Voldemort paused in his task of intimidating Izar. "Then what now?"

Voldemort's question echoed across the top floor of the manor. It was more of an attic than anything else and Izar's preferred room to collect himself. It was also the same room Izar spent most of his day, brainstorming his decisions and weighing each choice with alternative consequences and benefits.

Izar closed his eyes, knowing Voldemort had his attention on him. Now that everything was put into perfect place, there was an overwhelming sense of calamity that settled within Izar. Things were exactly how they should be. Loose ends were tied back in Britain, precisely what Voldemort wanted.

It was time for their second phase of immortality to begin. And it was Izar's turn to pick what that entitled.

"What now…" Izar bowed his head before looking sharply at Voldemort, catching the man's position in the shadows immediately. A true smile crossed his lips. "Just because I admitted I wasn't ready doesn't mean I am not willing to go onward headfirst." There was a sudden stillness coming from both the man and his aura. "_You _are going to defend Britain or assist me with France."

It would be very difficult to balance Britain and the French Ministry, but it was a challenge Izar was eager to pick up. It seemed impossible, an ambitious strategy that was destined to fail even before it even began properly. And that's why Izar was so determined to try it out. Already, a plan was forming, and he knew it would only grow and broaden the more he learned in France.

As if to match Izar's enthusiasm, the Dark Lord's aura spiked excitingly and a leer crossed the man's chiseled features. "Are you sure you wish to challenge me, child? You are only just picking up the pieces of Marjolaine's death. It will take you months just to get a general understanding."

Crossing his arms across his chest, Izar stood his ground. "To admit I am not ready would be to admit defeat, Tom," he drawled.

There was a sudden change in atmosphere in the attic. It was if the grim events from the past few days had swept away, leaving only the memories and the lessons learned and replacing it with a dense excitement. They were both prepared to move forward and into this next challenge. Izar especially.

Voldemort considered Izar's words and stance, looking far too pleased with himself. Whatever was on the Dark Lord's mind, Izar had to prepare himself.

"Because you have won the last round, I will play fair and allow you to catch up to speed in France before I strike."

Izar balked at the offer. "Don't _insult _me." Nevertheless, he admitted being curious and tempted to take that offer up. Though, he was suspicious of the man's motives. Perhaps even the Dark Lord needed time to get things straightened? Were they rushing into this too quickly?

He straightened when Voldemort clapped his hands together.

"Well then," the man began optimistically. "I will be leaving. I must prepare for France."

Pale charcoal and green eyes watched in muted anger as Voldemort turned to leave. "You are not leaving," Izar hissed lowly. "You're spending the night. With me." He didn't care if it was what the Dark Lord had been waiting for. And he also ignored the smug and arrogant glow surrounding Voldemort as he turned to face him. They hadn't spent a night together for what seemed like ages. Izar intended to take advantage of what time they had together.

Taking a step closer to the tall wizard, Izar easily bypassed the barrier of Voldemort's conceit. "Give me five months," he began, accepting Voldemort's earlier offer. "Until then, we will have a neutral place to meet and spend time together. That way you won't snoop in any of my business here in France."

Voldemort was the one to take the advancing step this time. He still wore his ridiculous smirk, proof of his playful mood. "Just because _I _won't snoop, doesn't mean I won't find other means to find out what you're doing."

"_Oh_, I welcome as much, Tom."

Voldemort chuckled breathlessly. "And instead of five months, I'll give you six to prepare yourself properly, you'll need it."

Izar narrowed his eyes at the suggestion of increased time. Did the man actually think he was being generous? Unlikely. It was if the man actually thought Izar was an _invalid._ "Four months," he boasted in challenge.

"Alright," the man conceded easily, almost too quickly. Obviously he had been intending for Izar to fall into his trap of lessening the time of preparation. "Four months it is. And I expect you to spend every night with me."

"If you can keep me entertained long enough," Izar seethed, silently chastising himself for falling for the man's deception. Of course he could prepare in four months, but five would have been preferred but Izar refused to bend his neck and ask for it.

"Of course, now that we decided on the time frame, where will our neutral… _oasis_ be?" the man asked amiably, entirely ignoring Izar's earlier comment. "I think Britain will suffice. Unlike you, I'm capable of hiding my necessary schemes from you when you spend time in my country."

"You're a right bastard."

They were advancing closer to one another, drawn together by the initiation of the upcoming challenge. It was intoxicating to dance opposite of Voldemort. Now that Izar had gotten his own victory over Voldemort, he hoped the man could get just as excited as himself. And judging from the Dark Lord's aura, Izar would go as far and say Voldemort got off by things like this. It was a bit amusing at how easily Izar could influence the man's emotions.

"I never claimed I wasn't," Voldemort countered smugly.

Izar paused in his advance forward, choosing to survey the Dark Lord instead. The man's hood had fallen off during their earlier exchange, revealing the roguish features. Izar had always admired the man's subtle handsomeness. But above all else, the most eye-catching feature Voldemort possessed was his ability to _move_. The man had grace that cascaded around his tall and lithe figure. Instead of walking, Voldemort glided.

Izar derided himself for sinking so low by _admiring _the Dark Lord. Snapping himself back to the present, he was pleased to note that Voldemort was only inches from him. His fingers itched at his side, needing to touch but refusing to be the first to cave in. "You are at a disadvantage in this war, Tom," Izar continued, unwilling to lose their verbal spar. "_I _know Britain and your army from the inside out. You know little about France—"

"My knowledge on France is just as likely equivalent to your own knowledge. So I do not consider your threat worthwhile." Voldemort pressed a fingernail to Izar's chest. "I'm afraid you are at a disadvantage. There is no possible way you can handle your own Ministry and both Lord Voldemort and Tom Riddle."

"_That _is a feeble threat," Izar bragged sweetly. "Because I will be the one who will reveal you to Britain. Your reputation will crumble."

Voldemort and Izar stared each other down. The intensity only tapered when the corners of Voldemort's eyes began to crease. The Dark Lord's finger slowly slid up Izar's chest before taking captive of his chin. "_I worship you," _the man confessed in Parseltongue before he claimed Izar's lips roughly.

Izar moaned appreciatively into the kiss, curling his hands in the man's long hair. With a tug at the roots, Izar deepened the kiss, controlling the Dark Lord and the depth of the kiss. He smiled into Voldemort's mouth, knowing he had a remarkable amount of sway over the man. He knew he could use it to his advantage. Then again, he also knew as soon as he abused Voldemort's trust, it would be virtually impossible to retain it.

His mind felt clearer than it had ever felt before. Now that the results of Aiden's vision had passed, Izar was eager to continue advancing. He imagined the different things he would invent, the different cultures he would learn, the array of people he would meet, and above all else, the different games he would participate in with Voldemort.

Really, the possibilities were endless.

_End._

* * *

{**Note**}

I know many of you will not be particularly fond of this ending, but I'm not a fan of killing off main characters. Plus, I thought it was fitting to have Izar finally claiming a victory over Voldemort. In writing the ending this way, I wanted to show you, the reader, that it will be a constant cycle. Once Tom and Izar are finished with one phase, they jump to the next. It won't necessarily be Lord vs. Lord, it may be something entirely different.

With that being said, as of right now, there will be no sequel. Also, there will be no Voldemort POV's (sorry Elelith!). Likewise, I know a few readers expressed an interest in continuing the story of Izar and Voldemort themselves, but I will have to ask you to respect my wishes and refrain from doing so.

As for my next project (those of you who asked), I am unsure of where I'm going next. My intention is to continue with Dreams & Darkness Collide and finish Goddess of Imaginary Light, but I may just take a long break. My muse has been rather lackluster the past few months.

It's been an incredibly long journey (honestly, I thought this would be my shortest story). And I want to thank every _one _of you for reading this far. Those of you who reviewed always inspired me. The translations of this story also meant a lot, as did those of you who submitted Fan Art. *Sheepish smile*

Thank you again, everyone. I enjoyed writing this.


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